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NATIONAL    LIBRARY 
CANADA 
^UOTHEQUE   NATIONALE 


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B 


THE 


POETICAL   WORKS 


OF 


ALFRED    TENNYSON, 

POET  LAUREATE. 


COMPLETE   EDITION. 


BOSTON:  JAMES   R.  OSGOOD  &   CO. 

TORONTO: 

AD4M,   STEVENSON,   &   CO. 

1873. 


POKMS  (Pub 

To  the 

Claribe 

Lilian 

Isabel 

Marian 

To 

Madelii 
Song.  — 
Second 
Recoilec 
Ode  to  I 
Song 
Adeline 
A  Chara 
ThePoe 
The  Poei 
The  Sea- 
The  Desi 
The  Dyii 
A  Dirge 
Love  and 
The  Balla 
CIrcumsta 
The  Mem 
The  Mem 
Sonnet  to 

POBMS  (Pubiishe 
The  Lady 
Mariana  in 
Eleanore  . 
The  Miller' 
Fatima 
tEnone  . 
The  Sisters 

To 

The  Palace 


CONTENTS. 


■> 


Poems  (Published  1830):  — 

To  the  Queen   .... 

Claribel         ...  *       ' 

Lilian 

Isabel     ... 

Mariana    . 

To .       .    '    .    ■        '       • 

Madeline  ... 

Song. —  The  Owl.       .'.*.' 
Second  Song 

Recollections  of  the  Arabian  NightL 


Ode  to  Memory 

Song 

Adeline      .        . 

A  Character  , 

The  Poet  .     '  .     '        *        • 

The  Poet's  Mind  .        ,  ' 

The  Sea- Fairies 

The  Deserted  House 

The  Dying  Swan     .     "        '       * 

A  Dirge        .        .  '        '        * 

Love  and  Death       .    '        *       ' 

The  Ballad  of  Oriana  .    "    .    *        ' 

Circumstance    .  *        * 

The  Memian        .  '        '        '        ' 

The  Memiaid    .  *       ' 

Sonnet  to  J.  M,  K.    ' 

Poems  (Published  1832) ;_ 
The  Lady  of  Shalot7 
Mar' 


anana  in  the  South  , 
Eleanore  . 

The  Miller's  Daughter- 
Fatuna 

tEnone  . 

The  Sisters 

To- .       .   ■ 

The  Palace  of  Art 


PAGE 

I 


•  5 
6 
6 
7 

7 
8 
8 
9 
9 
9 

xo 

10 

IT 

It 
II 

13 


.     xa 

U 

•   »s 
16 

•  x8 
18 

•  ai 
ai 

•  ax 


CONTENTS. 


Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere     .... 

The  May  Queen 

New- Year's  Eve 

Conclusion •       • 

The  Lotos-Eaters 

A  Dream  of  Fair  Women        .... 

Margaret *        * 

The  Blackbird 

The  Death  of  the  Old  Year  .        .        •        • 
ToJ.  S ^• 

"  You  as':  me  why,  the'  ill  at  ease  "     . 

"  Of  old  sat  Freedom  on  the  heights  "    . 

"  Love  thou  thy  land,  with  love  far-brought" 

The  Goose 


24 

25 

36 

27 

28 

30 

33 

34 

34 

35- 

35 

36 

36 

37 


English  Idyls  and  other  Poems  ^Published  1842):- 

The  Epic 

Morte  d' Arthur 

The  Gardener's  Daughter ;  or.  The  Pictures  . 

Dora 

Audley  Court 

Walking  to  the  Mail 

Edwin  Morris ;  or,  The  Lake  .       .       .        •       • 

St  Simeon  Stylites 

The  Talking  Oak 


38 
38 
41 
44 
45 
46 

47 
49 
SI 

54 


Love  and  Duty ....     55 


The  Golden  Year 
Ulysses 


55 

....  56 

LocksleyHall ....        60 

61 

65 

68 

69 

69 

70 

70 

72 

73 

73 

74 

75 


Godiva   . 

The  Two  Voices 

The  D-iy-Dream 

Amphion 

St.  Agnes        .        • 

Sir  Galahad 

Edward  Gray 

Will  Waterproofs  Lyrical  Monologue    . 

To •,  after  reading  a  Life  and  Letters 

To  E.  L.,  on  his  Travels  in  Greece  . 

Lady  Clare 

The  Lord  of  Burleigh 


Sir  Launcelot  and  Queen  Guinevere ...    75 


A  Farewell 

The  Beggar  Maid 

The  Vision  of  Sin 


"Come  not,  when  I  am  dead" 78 

The  Eagle          .        •        •.•:■„*        '        '        '.'.'.        .  78 

"Moveeastward,  happy  Earth,  and  leave ^^ 

"Break,  break,  break" ,    *    .    '    .        .  78 

The  Poet's  Song   .        .       ^       -^       • 


24 
25 
26 
27 
28 

3° 

33 

34 

34 

35- 

35 

36 

36 

37 


38 
38 
4^ 
44 
45 
46 
47 
49 

51 

54 

55 

55 

56 

6o 
,  6i 

65 
,  68 

69 

69 

70 

70 

72 

73 

73 

74 

75 

75 

75 

75 

78 

78 

78 

78 

78 


CONTENTS.  vii 

The  Princess  ;  A  Medley   . 

79 

In  Memoriam 

•       • "3 

Maud,  and  other  Poems  :  — 

Maud 

The  Brook ;  an  Idyl  .        .        .        .        .        .'.*.'.*.'       '        '    ^^\ 

The  Letters *        '  „ 

•        .        .    158 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  . 

The  Daisy '.".'.*        '         \fi 

To  the  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice       ....  ^* 

••••...  162 

Will 

••■••..  ,  163 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade g 

Idyls  of  the  King:  — 

Dedication '^  , 

^i'^ *   •    "        '.'.'.*.'."    i'64 

!;,T" 182 

Elaine 

Guinevere •        .  yu 

204 

Enoch  Arden  ....... 

•        •        •        •       •        ••»       .        .        .    an 

Additional  Poems:  — 

Aylmer's  Field         ,        .        . 

...    220 

Sea  Dreams 

••••..         228 

The  Grandmother  .... 

•".....,      211 

Northern  Farmer 

Tithonus '.*.'. ^^^ 

The  Voyage        .        .        .        .'.'.'.".*.".'.'        '  '    ^^g 

In  the  Valley  of  Cauteretz ^^ 

The  Flower         ....                    •••••...  237 

_.                                  237 

Requiescat      .    ' 

The  Sailor-Boy   ....  '^^\ 

The  Islet         ...  *        ' °^J 

TheRinglet *   .        .'.'.'.'.'//% 

A  Welcome  to  Alexandra 

Ode  sung  at  the  Opening  of  the  International  Exhibition        .        .       .    *  2,„ 

A  Dedication  ...  •       •  jy 

The  Captain  ;  a  Legend  of  the  Navy        ...... 

Three  Sonnets  to  a  Coquette 

On  a  Mourner 

Song        ,        .  ' .      •  4 

Song    ..     .       .'.*.*. •    ''' 

34« 

Experiments:—  • 

BoSdicea         .       .       ,       , 

In  Ouantifv 

-     ■;        "' W43 

bpecimen  of  a  Translation  of  the  Iliad  in  Blank  Verse 343 

The  Holy  Grail  and  other  Poems  :  — 

The  Coming  of  Arthur 

•IheHolyGraU  .  '  

249 


vlii  •  CONTENTS. 

Pelleas  and  Ettarre, 258 

The  Passing  of  Arthur 264 

Miscellaneous  :  — 

Northern  Farmer.    New  Style 269 

The  Victim 270 

Wages 271 

The  Higher  Pantheism 271 

Lucretius 271 

The  Golden  Supper 274  • 

Additional  Poems:  — 

Timbuctoo 281 

POBMS  PUBLISHED  IN  THE  EDITION  OF  1830,    AND  OMITTED   IN   LaTER   EDITIONS:  — 

Elegiacs 283 

The  "  How  "  and  the  "  Why  " 284 

Supposed  Confessions  of  a  second-rate  sensitive  Mind  not  in  Unity  with  itself  284 

The  Burial  of  Love 286 

To 286 

Song .       .       .       .  ' 286 

Song 286 

Song 287 

Nothing  will  die 287 

All  Things  will  die 287 

Hero  to  Leander 288 

The  Mystic 288 

The  Grasshopper 288 

Love,  Pride,  and  Forgetful  ness •       .        .  289 

Chorus  in  an  unpublished  Drama,  written  very  early 289 

Lost  Hope 289 

The  Tears  of  Heaven 289 

Love  and  Sorrow 289 

To  a  Lady  Sleeping 290 

Sonnet 290 

Sonnet 290 

Sonnet 290 

Sonnet 290 

Love 290 

The  Kraken 291 

English  W«.-Song 291 

National  Song 291 

Dualisms 291 

We  are  Free 29a 

The  Sea  Fairies .       t       .  29a 

Oi  peovres      .         .         .         •  • 293 

Poems  published  in  the  Edition  of  1833,  and  omitted  in  Later  Editions  :  — 

Sonnet ...        =        .        =        =        =  293 

To 293 

Bonaparte ....  294 

Sonnets • ^94 

The  Hesperides .       i       .  294 


CONTENTS. 

Rosalind 

Song 

Kate 

Sonnet  written  on  hearing  of  the  Outbreak  of  the  Polish  Insurrection  . 

Sonnet  on  the  Result  of  the  late  Russian  Invasion  of  Poland    . 
Sonnet       .        

O  Darling  Room ^'^'^ 

•••••      2Q7 

To  Christopher  North _'_ 

Fugitive  Poems  :  —  • 

No  More       .  

Anacreontics 

A  Fragment .        .    * •        •       •         297 


29s 
396 
396 
296 
296 


397 


297 


297 
298 
298 
398 
298 
299 
399 
299 


Sonnet 

Sonnet , 

The  Skipping- Rope .... 
The  New  Timon  and  the  Poets  . 

Stanzas     

Sonnet  to  William  Charles  Macready 
Britons,  guard  your  own  . 

The  Third  of  February,  1853 

Hands  all  round       ...  ^°° 

The  War .       .   " ^°° 

On  a  Spiteful  Letter        .       ..'.*. ^°' 

1865-1866 ^"' 

301 

The  Window  ;  or,  the  Songs  of  the  Wrens. 

On  the  Hill 

At  the  Window    ....'.  ^°' 

Gonel 303 

Winter '    _ ^o* 

Spring 


303 


The  Letter    . *.".'.'.'.*  ^°^ 

No  Answer •••33 

No  Answer •        •       •        •  303 

The  Answer '                •  •    303 

Ay! 303 

When? ..*.'....'"  ■    ^°* 

Marriage  Morning        ••......            •        •        •  304 

Garhth  and  Lvnette    ......                                   •        •       .  .    304 

The  Last  Tournament '    ,    *    ^ 3°S 

Epilogi'e  to  Idyls  of  the  King  .       .  ^^' 

329 


TENNYSON'S    POEMS. 


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(PUBLISHED  1830.) 


TO  THE  QUEEN. 


Revered,  beloved— O  you  that  hold 

A  nobler  office  upon  earth 

Than  arms,  or  power  of  brain  or  birth 
Could  give  the  warrior  kings  of  old, 

Victoria,  —since  your  Royal  grace 
To  one  of  less  desert  allows 
This  laurel  greener  from  the  brows 

Ot  him  that  utter'd  nothing  base  ; 

And  should  your  greatness,  and  the  care 
1  hat  yokes  with  empire,  yield  you  time 
To  make  demand  of  modern  rhyme 

If  aught  of  ancient  worth  be  there  ; 

Then  —  while  a  sweeter  music  wakes. 
And  thro'  wild  March  the  throstle  calls. 
Where  all  about  your  palace-walls 

The  sunlit  almond-blossom  shakes  — 

Take,  Madam,  this  poor  book  of  song; 
For  tho'  the  faults  were  thick  as  dust 
In  vacant  chainbers,  I  could  trust 

Your  kindness.     May  you  rule  us  long. 

And  leave  us  rulers  of  your  blood 
As  noble  till  the  latest  day  I 
May  children  of  our  children  say, 
She  wrought  her  people  lasting  good ; 

"  Her  coiirt  was  pure  ;  her  life  serene  ; 

Ood  gave  her  peace  ;  her  land  repoLjd ; 

A  thousand  claims  to  reverence  closed 
In  her  as  Mother,  Wife,  and  Queen ; 

"  wi?  ^'^'ssmen  at  her  council  met 
Who  knew  the  seasons,  when  to  take 
Occasion  by  tne  hand,  and  make 

Ihe  bounds  of  freedom  wider  yet 

'  Fj, ';''*P'"g  some  august  decree, 
which  kept  her  throne  unshaken  still, 
liroad  based  upon  her  people's  will. 

And  compassed  by  the  inviolate  sea." 
March,  1831. 


CLARIBEL, 

A  MELODV. 
I, 

Where  Claribel  low-lieth 

The  breezes  pause  and  die. 
Letting  the  rose-leaves  fall  : 
But  the  solemn  oak-tree  sighetb 
Thick-leaved,  ambrosial, 

With  an  ancient  melody 

Of  an  inward  agony. 
Where  Claribel  low-lieth. 

2. 
At  eve  the  beetle  boometh 

Athwart  the  thicket  lone  : 
At  noon  the  wild  bee  luimmeth 

About  the  moss'd  headstone : 
At  midnight  the  mocn  cometh, 

And  looketh  down  alone. 

3- 
Her  song  the  lintwhite  swelleth, 
ine  clear-voiced  mavis  dwelleth, 

The  callow  throstle  lispeth, 
The  slumberous  wave  outwelleth. 

The  babbling  runnel  crispeth, 
The  hollow  grot  replieth 
Where  Claribel  low-lieth. 


LILIAN, 
I. 
Airy,  fairy  Lilian, 
„r,  F''"'nK.  fairy  Lilian, 
When  I  ask  her  if  she  love  me, 
Claps  her  tiny  hands  above  me. 

Laughing  all  she  can  ; 
She  '11  not  tell  me  if  she  love 
Cruel  little  Lilian. 

3. 
When  my  passion  seeks 
.    Pleasance  in  love-sighs 
She,  looking  thro'  and  thro'  me 
Thoroughly  to  undo  me, 

Smiling,  never  speaks : 
So  innocent-arch,  so  cunning-simple. 


mo, 


ISABEL.  —  MARIANA. 


From  beneath  her  gather'd  wimple 
Glancmg  with  black-beaded  eyes, 

Till  the  lightning  laughters  dimple 
Ihe  baby-roses  in  her  cheeks ; 
Then  away  she  flies. 

3- 
Prythee  weep,  May  Lilian  I 

Gayety  witho:<:  eclipse 

Wearieth  me,  May  Lilian  : 

Thro'  my  very  heart  it  thrilleth 

When  from  crimson-threaded  lips 
Silver-treble  laughter  trilleth . 
Prythee  weep.  May  Lilian 

4- 

Praying  all  I  can. 
If  prayers  will  not  hush  thee, 

Airy  Lilian, 
Like  a  rose-leaf  I  will  crush  thee. 

i  airy  Lilian. 


ISABEL. 

I. 

Eyes  not  down-dropped  nor  over-bright,  but 

With  the  clear-pointed  flame  of  chastity 
Clear,  without  heat,  undying,  tended  by 
Pure  vestal  thoughts  in  the.  translucent 
fane 
Of  her  still  spirit ;  locks  not  wide  dispread, 
Madonna-wise  on  either  side  her  head ; 
bweet  hps  whereon  perpetually  did  reien 
The  summer  calm  of  golden  charity. 
Were  fixed  shadows  of  thy  fixed  mood, 
Tu  Severed  Isabel,  the  crown  and  head, 
The  stately  flower  of  female  fortitude. 

Of  perfect  wifehood,  and  pure  lowlihead. 

2. 

The  intuitive  decision  of  a  bright 
And  thorough-edged  intellect  to  part 

±.rror  from  crime;  a  prudence  to  withhold; 
TT        .u  ^?r  marriage  character'd  in  gold 
Upon  the  blanched  tablets  of  her  heart  • 
A  love  still  burning  upward,  giving  light 
lo  read  those  laws  ;  an  accent  very  low 
in  blandishment,  but  a  most  silver  flow 
■D-  .V .     L    .  P^"'^ '°"nsel  in  distress. 
Right  to  the  heart  and  brain,  tho'  undescried, 

TK    .  'n".'L  ^  "^  ^^y  ^'''^  extreme  gentleness 
Ihro  all  the  outworks  of  suspicious  pride  • 
A  courage  to  endure  and  to  obey  ; 
A  hate  of  gossip  parlance  and  of  sway, 
Crown  d  Isabel,  thro'  all  her  placid  life, 
llie  queen  of  marriage,  a  most  perfect  wife. 

3- 
The  mellowed  reflex  of  a  winter  moon  ; 
•*^'.*?^  ^•.'■^a'"  flowing  with  a  muddy  one, 
„,'.".  "^  onward  current  it  absorbs 
With  swifter  movement  and  in  purer  light 
1  he  vexed  eddies  of  its  wayward  brother ; 
A  Jeaning  and  upbearing  parasite, 
Clothing  the  stem,  which  else  had  fallen 
quite, 
With   cluster'd  flower-bells  and  ambrosial 
orbs 


Of  rich  fruit-bunches  leaning  on  each 

other  — 
Shadow  forth  thee  ;  —  the  world  hath  not 

another 

9-  'L°i'uS'^  ^".'l^''  ^^i"'^^*  '""'■nis  are  types  of  the.i. 
And  thou  of  God  in  thy  great  charity) 
Of  such  a  finish'd  chasten'd  purity. 

MARIANA. 
"  Mariana  in  the  moated  grange." 

Measure  for  Afeasure. 
VI'iTH  blackest  moss  the  flower-plots 
Were  thickly  crusted,  one  and  all : 
■''?,V"^'^'J  "3'ls  fell  from  the  knots 
Tii  k'  1  '^  the  peach  to  the  garden-wall. 
The  broken  sheds  look'd  sad  and  strange  : 
Unlifted  was  the  clinking  latch  : 
Weeded  and  worn  the  ancient  thatch 
^PO"  the  lonely  moated  grange. 

She  only  said,  "  My  life  is  dreary, 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said ; 
She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  1 " 

Her  tears  fell  with  the  dews  at  even  ; 

Her  tears  fell  ere  the  dews  were  dried ; 
She  could  not  look  on  the  sweet  heaven, 

Eitherat  morn  or  eventide. 
After  the  flitting  of  the  bats, 
When  thickest  dark  did  trance  the  sky. 
She  drew  her  casement-curtain  by, 
And  glanced  athwart  the  glooming  flats. 
She  only  said,  "The  night  is  dreary. 

He  cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 
She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  1 " 

Upon  the  middle  of  the  night, 

Waking  she  heard  the  night-fowl  crow  : 
Ine  cock  sung  out  an  hour  ere  light : 

From  the  dark  fen  the  oxen's  low 
Came  to  her  :  without  hope  of  change, 
In  sleep  she  seemed  to  walk  foriom, 
1  111  cold  winds  woke  the  gray-eyed  mom 
About  the  lonely  moated  grange. 

She  only  said,  "  The  day  i1  dreary. 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

I  would  that  I  were  dead  I " 

About  a  stone-cast  from  the  wall 

A  sluice  with  blacken 'd  waters  slept, 
And  o  er  it  many,  round  and  small, 

The  cluster'd  marish-niosses  crept. 
Hard  by  a  poplar  shook  alway, 
AH  silver-green  with  gnaried  bark  : 
For  leagues  no  othtr  tree  did  mark 
Ihe  level  waste,  the  rounding  gray. 
She  only  said,  "  My  life  is  dreary, 

He  cometh  not,"  she  said  ; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

I  would  that  I  were  dead  !  " 

Ar.d  ever  when  the  moon  was  low. 
And  the  shrill  winds  were  up  and  away, 

111  the  white  curtain,  to  and  fro. 
She  saw  the  gusty  shadow  sway. 


Low-co 

False 

Fair-l 

With  sh 

Norma 

Can  d 

A  gen 

Shot  tht 


WeakT 
Wan, 
Thy  k 
Unci 


eaning  on  each 

le  world  hath  not 

»re  types  of  the;, 
t  charity) 
purity. 


grango." 

re  for  Afeasure, 

'er-plots 
ind  all : 

knots 

garden-wall. 

and  strange ; 

Itch: 

;nt  thatch 

ge. 

5  dreary, 

lid; 

aweary, 

idl" 

t  even  ; 
were  dried ; 
et  heaven, 


ice  the  sky. 
ain  by, 
ming  flats. 
t  is  dreary, 
id  ; 

aweary, 
dl» 


-fowl  crow ; 

light  : 
s  low 

change, 

forlorn, 
y-eyed  mom 
je. 

5  dreary, 
d  ; 

iweary, 
il" 

ill 

rs  slept, 

nail, 

crept. 

bark  : 

mark 
jray. 
dreary, 
d; 

weary, 
I!" 

aw, 

and  away. 


TO  

But  vvhen  the  moon  was  very  low 
And  wild  winds  bound  within  their  cell 
The  shadow  of  the  poplar  fell  ' 

Upon  her  bed,  across  her  brow 

She  only  said,  "  The  night' is  dreary 
He  Cometh  not,"  she  said  •  ^' 

She  saic.   "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 
I  would  that  I  were  dead  !" 

All  day  within  the  dreamy  house, 
Th.M     T  "P°".'heir  hinges  creak'd  ; 

Hehuid  the  mouldenng  wa  nscot  shriek'd 
nu'f  'he  crevice  peered  about  ^' 

Old  faces  glnnmer'd  thro'  the  doors, 
OI<l  footstep.-,  trod  the  upper  floors, 
Old  voices  called  her  from  without. 
She  only  said,  "  My  life  is  dreary, 

He  Cometh  not,"  she  said; 

She  said,  "  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

X  would  that  I  were  dead  ! " 

The  sparrow's  chirrup  on  the  roof, 

WhShlTh'.""''  !'<=king,  and  the  sound 
wnich  to  the  wooing  wind  aloof 
Ihe  poplar  made,  did  all  confound 

Wh  "M'  ^\"-  ",'°^'  ^''^  '°atlied  the  hour 

When  the  thick-moted  sunbeam  lay 

Athwart  the  chambers,  and  the  da? 

Was  sloping  toward  his  western  bower 

1  hen  said  she,  "lam  ver- drear/; 

«:i"^ '""  '  r.",' ^""'e-"  si'e  said  ;  ^ 

O  Ood,  that  I  were  dead  I  " 


—  MADELINE. 

And  weary  with  a  finger's  touch 

Ihose  wnthed  limbs  of  lightning  speed  ■ 

Ui^    ?hi''i '  "i:^"«'  -y'F'  which  of  olci:  ' 
Un   1  the  breaking  of  the  light. 
Wrestled  with  wandering  Israel 
Past  Yabbok  brook  the  livelong  nieht 

fn  ,hl' h'^'"^  '"•■"■«'  «'g"s  stood  ftm^    ' 
in  the  dim  tract  of  Penuel. 


MADELINE. 


Thoit  art  not  steeped  in  golden  languors 
No  tranced  summer  cafm  is  thine         ' 
l!.ver  varying  Madeline. 

S,»W.  '^^"  ^"'^  '■''■'^"^^  "^°''  dost  range 
Sudden  glances,  sweet  and  strange 
Delicious  spites  and  darling  angers 
And  airy  forms  of  flittinlclmtige 


Ray-fringed  eyelids  of  the  mom 

Koof  not  a  glance  so  keen  as  thine  • 
If  aught  ot  prophecy  be  mine  " 

Thou  wilt  not  live  in  vain 


Smiimg,  frowning,  evermore, 
Ihou  art  perfect  in  love-lore. 
Keveahngs  deep  and  clear  are  thine 
Of  wealthy  smiles  ;  but  who  may  know 
Whe  her  smue  or  frown  be  fleeter? 
Whether  smile  or  frown  be  sweete  , 
V/ho  may  know?  ' 

Frowns  perfect-sweet  along  the  brow 
L'ght-glooming  over  eyes  divine 
Like  little  clouds,  sun-fringed  are  thine 
Ever  varying  Madeline!  ' 

Thy  smile  and  frown  are  not  aloof 
t  rom  one  another, 
Each  to  each  is  dearest  brother  • 
Hues  ofthe  silken  sheeny  woof 
Momently  shot  into  each  other. 
qmM-        r  ^  mystery  is  thine  ; 
Smiling,  frowning,  evermore, 
Thou  art  perfect  In  love-lore 
Ever  varying  Madeline. 


3- 

Wwk  Truth  a-leaning  on  her  crutch 

Until  she  be  an  athlete  bold, 


A  subtle,  sudden  flame, 
I      iiy  veering  passion  fann'd, 
I         Aboiit  thee  breaks  and  dances ; 

TK    fl""  J  "j;""'^  ^'^^  t'ly  hand, 
Ihe  flush  of  anger'd  shame 

kJi^   u^\^\'^  "''"e''  glances. 
And  o  er  black  brows  drops  dow.1 
A  sudden-curved  frown. 
«ut  when  I  turn  away, 

w  '  ^''''"g  me  to  stay, 
Wooest  not.  nor  vainly  wrarelest  • 
But,  looking  fixedly  W  wile    ' 
Alt  my  bounding  heart  entanglest 
In  a  golden-netted  smile  ; 
1  hen  m  madness  and  in  bliss. 

If  mjihps  should  dare  to  kiss 
Ihy  taper  fingers  amorously, 
Again  thou  bfushest  angerly  • 

A"siddrnSrtSS.^°^^^'°-" 


SONGS.- RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 


SONG. -THE  OWL. 

I.      ' 
When  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 

And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground, 

And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb, 

And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round. 

And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round  ; 

Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 

Tlie  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

2. 

When  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch. 
And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the  thatch 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay, 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay  : 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits. 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 


SECOND  SONG. 

TO  THE  SAME. 

Thy  tuwhits  are  lull'd  I  wot. 

Thy  tuwhoos  of  yesternight. 
Which  upon  the  dark  afloat, 
So  took  echo  with  delight. 
So  took  echo  with  delight, 
That  her  voice  untuneful  grown, 
Wears  all  day  a  fainter  tone. 

3. 

I  would  mock  thy  chaunt  anew ; 

But  I  cannot  mimic  it ; 
Not  a  whit  of  thy  tuwhoo. 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit, 
Thee  to  woo  to  thy  tuwhit, 
With  a  lengthen'd  loud  halloo, 
Tuwhoo,  tuwhit,  tuwhit,  tuwhoo-o-o. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE 
ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 

When  the  breeze  of  a  joyful  dawn  blew  free 

In  the  silken  sail  of  infancy, 
The  tide  of  time  flow'd  back  with  me, 

The  forward-flowing  tide  of  time  : 
And  many  a  sheeny  summer-morn, 
Adown  the  Tigris  I  was  borne. 
By  Bagdat's  shrines  of  fretted  gold. 
High- walled  gardens  green  and  old  ; 
True  Mussulman  was  I  and  sworn. 

For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Harouu  Alraschid. 

Anight  my  shallop,  rustling  thro' 
The  low  and  bloomed  foliage,  drove 
1  he  fragrant,  glistening  deeps,  and  clove 
1  he  citron-shadows  in  the  blue  : 
By  garden  porches  on  the  brim, 
1  he  costly  doors  flung  open  wide. 
Gold  glittering  thro'  lamplight  dim, 
And  broider'd  sofas  on  each  side  : 
In  sooth  it  was  a  goodly  time, 


For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Often,  where  clear-stemm'd  platans  guard 
The  outlet,  did  I  turn  away 
The  boat-head  down  a  broad  canal 
From  the  main  river  sluiced,  where  all 
The  sloping  of  the  moon-lit  sward 
Was  damask-work,  and  deep  inlay 
Of  braided  blooms  unmown,  which  crept 
Adown  to  where  the  water  slept. 
A  goodly  place,  a  goodly  time. 
For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

A  motion  from  the  river  won 
Ridged  the  smooth  level,  bearing  on 
My  shallop  thro'  the  star-strown  calm, 
Until  another  night  in  night 
I  enter'd,  from  the  clearer  light, 
Imbqwer'd  vaults  of  pillar'd  palm. 
Imprisoning  sweets,  which  as  they  clomb 
Heavenward,  were  stay'd  beneath  the  dome 
Of  hollow  boughs.  —  A  goodly  time. 
For  It  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Still  onward  ;  and  the  clear  canal 
Is  rounded  to  as  clear  a  lake. 
From  the  green  rivage  many  a  fall 
Of  diamond  rillets  musical, 
Thro'  little  crystal  arches  low 
Down  from  the  central  fountain's  flow 
Fall'n  silver-chiming,  seem'd  to  shake 
The  sparkling  flints  beneath  the  prow. 
A  goodly  place,  a  goodly  time. 
For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Above  thro'  many  a  bowery  turn 
A  walk  with  vary-color'd  shells 
Wander'd  engram'd.     On  either  side 
All  round  about  the  fragrant  marge 
From  fluted  vase,  and  brazen  urn 
In  order,  eastern  flowers  large. 
Some  dropping  low  their  crimson  bells 
Half;closed,  and  others  studded  wide 

With  disks  and  tiars,  fed  the  time 

With  odor  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

« 
Far  off,  and  where  the  lemon-grove 
In  closest  coverture  upsprung. 
The  living  airs  of  middle  night 
Died  round  the  bulbul  as  he  sung ; 
Not  he  :  but  something  which  possess'd 
The  darkness  of  the  world,  delight. 
Life,  anguish,  death,  immortal  love. 
Ceasing  not,  mingled,  unrepress'd, 

Apart  from  place,  withholding  time, 

But  flattering  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Black  the  garden-bowers  .^nd  grots 
Slumber'd  :  the  solemn  palms  were  ranged 
Above,  iinwoo'd  of  summer  wind : 
A  sudden  splendor  from  behind 
Flush'd  all  the  leaves  with  rich  gold-green, 
And,  flowing  rapidly  between 


ODE  TO  MEMORY. 


a  heir  interspaces,  Counterchanged 
Ihe  level  lake  with  diamond-plots 

Of  dark  and  bright.     A  lovely  time. 

For  It  was  in  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Aliaschid. 

Dark-blue  the  deep  sphere  overhead, 
Distinct  with  vivid  stars  inlaid. 
Grew  darker  from  that  under-Hame  : 
So,  leaping  lightly  from  the  boat, 
With  silver  anchor  left  afloat, 
In  marvel  whence  that  glory  came 
Upon  me,  as  in  sleep  I  sank 
In  cool  soft  turf  upon  the  bank. 
Entranced  with  that  place  and  time, 
!5Q  worthy  of  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Thence  thro'  the  garden  I  was  drawn  — 
A  realm  of  plen,ance,  many  a  mound. 
And  many  a  shadow-chequer'd  lawn 
A    J  J    *"®  '^"y'^  stilly  sound. 
And  deep  myrrh-thickets  blowing  round 
1  he  stately  cedar,  tamarisks, 
i  luck  rosaries  of  scented  thorn. 
Tail  orient  shrubs,  and  obelisks 

Oraven  with  emblems  of  the  time. 

In  honor  of  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

With  dazed  vision  unawares 
From  the  long  alley's  latticed  shade 
Emerged,  I-came  upon  the  great 
Pavilion  of  the  Caliphat. 
Right  to  the  carven  cedarn  doors, 
Flung  inward  over  spangled  floors. 
Broad-based  flights  of  marble  stairs 
Kan  up  with  golden  balustrade. 
.    After  the  fashion  of  the  time 
And  humor  of  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

The  fourscore  windows  all  alight 
As  vvith  the  quintessence  of  flame, 
A  million  tapers  flaring  bright 
from  twisted  silvers  look'd  to  shame 
The  hollow-vaulted  dark,  and  stream'd 
Upon  the  mooned  domes  aloof 

H„nT«^'  ^r^^"*^''  ""  ^^^'^  seem'd 
Hundreds  cf  crescents  on  the  roof 

tJ  Sbra?e","hf ."^Ih'"'  marvellous  time, 
r>f       J  TT  '"^  golden  prime 
Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Then  stole  r  up,  and  trancedly 
Gazed  on  the  Persian  girl  alone 
Serene  with  argent-lidded  eyes 
Amorous,  and  lashes  like  to  rays 

W;dwi,r".^?''^°"''fP«ri 
iressecl  with  redolent  ebonvT 

^'Vr"J'''?^^k  delicious  c«H. 
riowmg  beneath  her  rose-hued  zone; 
I  he  sweetest  lady  of  the  time. 
Of  '"'"'■•'^Lof  '"'6  Kolden  prime 
Ot  good  Haroun  Alraschid. 

Six  columns,  three  on  either  side, 
i-ure  silver,  underpropt  a  rich 


Throne  of  the  mas-  ive  ore,  from  which 
Down-droop'd,  in  many  a  floating  fold. 
Lngarlanded  and  diaper'd  ' 

With  inwrought  flowers,  a  cloth  of  gold 
1  hereon,  his  deep  eye  laughter-stirr'd 
With  merriment  of  kingly  pride, 
bole  star  of  all  that  place  and  time 
1  Mw  lm„  _  ,n  iiis  golden  prime, 
1  HE  Good  Hakoun  Alkaschid  I 


ODE  TO  MEMORY. 

I. 

Thou  who  stealest  fire, 

F  rom  the  fountains  of  the  past, 

lo  glorify  the  present ;  ob,  haste 
Visit  my  low  desire  1 

Strengthen  me,  enlighten  me  ! 

1  laint  in  this  obscurity. 

Thou  dewy  dawn  of  memory. 

2. 

Come  not  as  thou  camest  of  late 
Hinging  the  gloom  of  yesternight 
On  the  white  day  ;  but  robed  in  soften'd  light 

Of  orient  skjte.  ^ 

Whilome  thou  camest  with  the  morning  mist 

liven  as  a  maid,  whose  stately  brow 

Ihedew-impearledwindsofdawnhavekiss'd 
When  she,  as  thou,  ' 

htays  on  her  floating  locks  the  lovely  freight 
Of  overflowing  blooms,  and  eariiest  shoots 
Of  orient  green,  giving  safe  pledge  of  fruits, 
Which  in  wintertide  shall  star 
Ihe  black  earth  with  brilliance  rare. 


Whilome  thou  camest  with  the  morning  mist. 

And  with  the  evening  cloud, 
bhowering  thy  gleaned  wealth  into  my  open 

Uhose  peerless  flowers  which  in  the  rudest 

wind 
„„  Never  grow  sere, 

When  rooted  in  the  garden  of  the  mind, 
Because  they  are  the  eariiest  of  the  year) 
Nor  was  the  night  thy  shroud. 

Th^f  ^f '■^^J!'^  I"*"*."  'f'^"  unbroken  rest 
Thou  leddest  by  the  hand  thine  infant  Hope. 
1  he  eddying  of  hergarments  caught  from  thee 

nr  Ir  u '^ir '•"  ^"^""X  presence;  and  the  cope 
Of  the  half-attain'd  futuritv,  ^ 

1  hough  deep  not  fathomless. 

Was  cloven   with  the  million  stars  which 
tremble 

O'er  the  deep  mind  of  dauntless  infancy 

bmall  thought  was  there  of  life's  distress; 

-  or  sure  s).e  deem'd  no  mist  of  earth  could 
dull 

Those  spiru -thrilling  eyes  so  keen  and  beauti- 

Siire  she  was  iiigher  to  heaven's  spheres, 
Listen.r-  ihe  hrdly  music  flowing  from 

e  illimitable  y-  i  s. 
O  stre..^  .^n  me,  enlighten  me  ; 


SONG.— ADELINE. 


I  faint  in  this  obscurity, 
Thou  dewy  dawn  of  memory. 


Come  forth  I  charge  thee,  arise, 

Ihou  of  the  many  tongues,  the  myriad  eyes  I 

1  nou  coniest  not  with  shows  of  flaunting  vines 
Unto  mine  inner  eye, 
Divinest  Memory ! 

Thou  wert  not  nursed  by  the  waterfall 

Which  ever  sounds  and  shines 

A  pillar  of  white  light  upon  the  wall 
Of  purple  cliffs,  aloof  descried  : 
Come  from  the  woods  that  belt  the  gray  hill- 
side. 
The  seven  elms,  tlie  poplars  four 
That  stand  beside  my  father's  door, 
And  chiefly  from  the  brook  that  loves 
lo  purl  o'er  matted  cress  and  ribbed  sand, 
Or  dimple  in  the  dark  of  rushy  coves, 
Drawing  into  his  narrow  earthen  urn, 
„,,     .1"  every  elbow  and  turn, 
The  filter'd  tribute  of  the  rough  woodland. 

O  1  hither  lead  thy  feet  I 
Pour  round  niine  ears  the  livelong  bleat 
Oi  the  thick-fleeced  sheep  from  wattled  folds. 
,„,      Upon  the  ridged  wolds. 
When  the  first  matin-song  hathwaken'd  loud 
Over  the  dark  dewy  earfli  forlorn, 
What  time  the  amber  morn 
Forth  gushes  from  beneath  a  low-hung  cloud 


Or  a  garden  bower'd  close 

With  pl.iited  alleys  of  the  trailing  rose, 

Long  alleys  falling  down  to  twilight  grots. 

Or  opening  upon  level  plots 

Of  crowned  lilies,  standing  near 

Purplo-spiked  lavender: 

Whither  in  after  life  retired 

From  brawling  storms, 

From  weary  wind, 

With  youthful  fancy  reinspired,      ' 

We  may  hold  converse  with  all  forms 

Of  the  many-sided  mind. 

And  those  whom  passion  hath  not  blinded, 

Subtle-thoughted,  myriad-minded. 

\h  "■'end,  with  you  to  live  alone. 

Were  how  much  better  th,1n  to  own 

A  crown,  a  sceptre,  and  a  throne  1 

0  strengthen  me,  enlighten  me  I 

1  faint  in  this  obscurity, 
Thou  dewy  dawn  of  memory. 


SONG. 


Large  dowries  doth  the  raptured  eye 
To  the  young  spirit  present 
When  first  she  is  wed  ; 

And  like  a  bride  of  old 
In  triumph  led, 

With  music  and  sweet  showers 
Of  festal  flowers, 
...  ,,   Unto  the  dwelling  she  must  sw3y. 
well  hast  thou  done,  great  artist  Memory, 
^"setting  round  thy  first  experiment 
With  royal  frame- work  of  wrought  gold : 
Needs  must  thou  dearly  love  thy  first  efsay. 
And  foremost  m  thy  various  gaMery 
Place  It,  where  sweetest  sunlight  falls 
Upon  the  storied  walls  ; 
For  the  discovery 
And  newness  of  thine  art  so  pleased  thee, 
A  a", which  thou  hast  drawn  of  fairest 
117- !!  °°'°^st  since,  but  lightly  weighs 
Tpu    c         ""'°  ^^^  '°^s  *hou  bearest 
1  he  first-born  of  thy  genius.    Artist-like. 
*|Ver  retiring  thou  dost  gaze 
On  the  prime  labor  of  thine  early  days : 
No  matter  what  the  sketch  might  be  ; 
Whether  the  high  field  on  the  bushless  Pike. 
Or  even  a  sand-built  ridge 
Of  heaped  hills  that  mound  the  sea, 
Overblown  with  murmurs  harsh, 
Or  even  a  lowly  cottage  whence  wp  rpc 
Stretch'd  wide  and  wfld  the  waste  enormous 

marsh. 
Where  from  the  frequent  bridge. 
Like  emblems  of  infinity. 
The  trenched  waters  run  from  sky  to  sky ; 


A  SPIRIT  haunts  the  year's  last  hours 
Dwelling  amid  these  yellowing  bowers  : 

To  himself  he  talks  ; 
For  at  eventide,  listening  earnestly, 
At  his  work  you  may  hear  him  sob  and  sieh 

In  the  walks ; 

Earthward  he  boweth  the  heavy  stalks 
Of  the  mouldering  flowers  : 

Heavily  hangs  the  broad  sunflower 

Over  Its  grave  i'  the  earth  so  chilly ; 
Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock, 

Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily. 

2. 

The  air  is  damp,  and  hush'd,  and  close. 
As  a  sick  man's  room  when  he  taketh  repose 

An  hour  before  death  ; 
My  very  heart  faints  and   my  whole  soul 

grieves 
At  the  moist  rich  smell  of  the  rotting  leaves. 

And  the  breath 

Of  the  fading  edges  of  box  beneath, 
And  the  year's  last  rose. 

Heavily  hangs  the  broad  sunflower 

Over  Its  grave  i'  the  earth  so  chilly. 
Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock. 

Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily. 


ADELINE. 


Mystery  of  mysteries. 

Faintly  smiling  Adeline, 
.Scarce  of  earth  iior  all  divine, 
Nor  unhappy,  nor  at   est. 
But  beyond  expression  fair 
With  thy  floating  flaxen  hair  ; 
Ihy  rose-hps  and  full  blue  eyes 

Take  the  heart  from  out  my  breast 


'ailing  rose, 
twilight  grots, 


near 


red, 

all  forms 

th  not  blinded, 
inded. 
lone, 
to  own 
rone  I 
lie  I 


A   CHARACTER.— THE  POET. 


i3t  hours 
ig  bowers : 

nestly, 

m  sob  and  sigh 

the  heavy  stalks 

sunflower 
rth  so  chilly ; 
lock, 
r-lily. 


and  close, 

^  taketh  repose 

ny  whole  soul 

rotting  leaves, 

box  beneath, 

?unflower 
Ih  so  chilly, 
>ck, 
-lily. 


iir 
hair; 

y  breast 


Wherefore  those  dim  looks  of  thine 
Shadowy,  dreaming  Adeline;? 


Whence  that  aery  bloom  of  thine. 

Like  a  lily  which  the  sun 
Looks  thro'  in  his  sad  decline. 

And  a  rose-bush  leans  upon. 
Thou  that  faintly  smiiest  still, 

As  a  Naiad  in  a  well, 

Looking  at  the  set  of  day, 
Or  a  phantom  two  liours  old 

Of  a  maiden  past  away. 
Ere  the  placid  lips  be  cold  ? 
WJercfore  those  faint  smiles  of  thine. 

Spiritual  Adeline  ? 

3- 

What  hope  or  fear  or  joy  is  thine? 
Who  talketh  with  thee,  Adeline  ' 

For  sure  thou  art  not  all  alone  : 
Do  beating  hearts  of  salient  springs 

Keep  measure  with  thine  own  ? 

MrP^^^J*^""  ''^^''^  ^^^  butterflies 

What  they  say  betwixt  their  wings? 

Or  m  stillest  evenings 
With  what  voice  the  violet  woos 
10  his  heart  the  silver  dews  ? 

Or  when  little  airs  arise. 

How  the  merry  bluebell  rings 
To  the  mosses  underneath  ? 

^/*?^* '.'l""  look'd  upon  the  breath 

*->•  the  lihes  at  sunrise  ? 
Wherefore  that  faint  smile  of  thine, 
bnadowy,  dreaming  Adeline  ? 


SonTe  honey-converse  feeds  thy  mind, 
borne  spirit  of  a  crimson  rose 
In  love  with  thee  forgets  to  close 
His  curtains,  wasting  odorous  sighs 

All  niglit  long  on  darkness  blind. 

Wi.t*.K'^"'r*''*'f /  "T*^""'  whitest  thou 
With  thy  soften'd,  shadow'd  brow. 

And  those  dew-lit  eyes  of  thine, 
1  hou  faint  smiler,  Adeline  ? 


Lovest  thou  the  doleful  wind 

When  thou  gazest  at  the  skies? 
i»oth  the  low-tongued  Orient 
Wander  from  the  side  of  the  mom. 

n„  ♦.,  ^"ilPP'"?  «''t''  Sabaan  spice 
Onthypillow.lowlybent 

With  melodious  airs  lovelorn, 
Breathing  Light  against  thy  face. 
While  his  locks  a-dropping  twined 
Kound  tiiy  neck  in  subtle  ring 
Make  a  carcanet  of  rays 

And  ye  talk  togethe    ;till, 
in  the  language  where     th  Spring 
Letters  cowslips  on  the  hill  ? 
Hence  that  look  .uid  smile  of  thine. 
Spiritual  Adeline. 


A   CHARACTER. 

With  a  half-glance  upon  the  sky 
At  night  he  said,  "  The  wanderings 
Of  this  most  intricate  Universe 
I  each  me  the  nothingness  of  things  " 
Yet  could  not  all  creation  pierce 
Beyond  the  bottom  of  his  eye. 

He  spake  of  beauty  :  that  the  dull 

.^)aw  no  divinity  in  grass. 

Life  in  dead  stones,  or  spirit  in  air  ; 

1  hen  looking  as  't  were  in  a  glass 

He  smoolh'd  his  chin  and  sleek'd  his  hai 

And  said  the  earth  was  beautiful. 

He  spake  of  virtue  :  not  the  gods 
More  purely,  when  they  wish  to  charm 
ralias  and  Juno  sitting  by  • 
And  with  a  sweeping  of  the  arm, 
And  a  lack-lustre  dead-blue  eye 
Devolved  his  rounded  periods.  ' 

Most  delicately  hour  by  hour 
Hecanvass'd  human  mysteries 
And  trod  on  silk,  as  if  the  winds 
Blew  his  own  praises  in  his  eyes. 
And  stood  aloof  from  other  minds 
In  impotence  of  fancied  power. 

With  lips  depressed  as  he  were  meek, 
Himself  unto  himself  he  sold  : 
Upon  himself  himself  did  feed  • 
Quiet,  dispassionate,  and  cold,  ' 
And  other  than  his  form  of  creed, 
With  chisell'd  features  clear  and  sleek. 


THE   POET. 

'^"E  poet  in  a  golden  clime  was  bom, 

.    With  golden  stars  above  ; 
Dower'd  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of 
scorn. 
The  love  of  love. 

He  saw  thro*  life  and  death,  thro'  good  and  ill 

He  saw  thro'  his  own  soul. 
The  marvel  of  the  everiasting  will. 
An  open  scroll. 

Before  him  lay :  with  echoing  feet  he  threaded 

The  secretest  walks  of  fame  : 
The  viewless  arrows  of  his  thoughts  were 
headed 
And  wing'd  with  flame, 

Like  Indian   reeds  blown  from  his  silver 

tongue. 
And  of  so  fisrcs  ;i  fli'^ht 
From  Calpe  unto  Caucasus  they  sune. 
Filling  with  light 

And  vagrant  melodies  the  winds  which  bore 

Them  earthward  till  they  lit ; 
Then,  hke  the  arrow-seeds  of  the  field  flower, 
The  fruitful  wit 


THE  POETS  MIND. -THE  ^E  A  FAIRIES. 


m 


C\p**\\i^,  tookroot,  andsprinKiug  -. 
"""      old, 


Where'er  tdey  fell,  behold, 
\at*  ("  rhe  mother  plant  in  semblance,  crew 
A  rt/^w  ef  all  goid, 

And  bravely  furnHsh'd  all  abroad  to  fling 

1  he  winj^ed  shafts  of  truth, 
lo  throng  with  stately  blooms  the  breath- 
ing spring  . 
Of  Hope  and  Youth. 

So   manv  minds  did  gird    their    orbs  with 
beams, 
Tho'  one  did  fling  the  fire. 
Heaven  flow'd  upon  the  soul  in  many  dreams 
Of  high  desire. 

Thus  truth  was  multiplied    on  truth,   the 
world 
Like  one  great  garden  show'd, 
And  thro'  the  wru    hs  of  floating  dark  up- 
curl'd,  *^ 

Rare  sunrise  flow'd. 

And  Freedom  rear'd  in  that  august  sunrise 

Her  beautiful  bold  brow, 
A'hen  rites  and  forms  before  his  burning 
eyes  *" 

Melted  like  snow. 

There  was  no  blood  upon  her  maiden  robes 

tsunn  d  by  those  orient  skies  : 
But  round  about  the  circles  of  the  globes 
Of  her  keen  eyes 

And  in  her  raiment's  hem  was  traced  in  flame 
Wisdom,  a  name  to  shake 
evil  dreams  of  power,  -  a  sacred  name. 
And  when  she  spake, 

fier  words  did  gather  thunder  as  they  ran, 
u/u-  i"r  n"  »"e  lightning  to  the  thunder 
Which  follows  it,  riving  the  spirit  of  man, 
Making  earth  wonder. 

So  was  their  meaning  to  her  words.     No 
swcrd 
Of  wrath  her  right  arm  whirl'd, 
But  one  poor  poet's  scroll,  and  with  his  word 
She  shook  the  world. 


Hollow  smile  and  frozen  sneer 

Come  not  here.  » 

Moly  water  will  I  pour 
\    '  •  every  spicy  flower 
Of  tl.   laurrl-shrubs  that  hedge  it  around. 
1  he  flowers  would  faint  at  your  cruel  ch««r 
In  your  eye  there  is  death. 
There  is  frost  in  your  breath 
Which  would  blight  the  plants. 
Where  you  stand  you  cannot  hear 
t  rom  the  groves  within 
Ihe  wild-bird's  din. 
In  the  heart  of  the  garden  the  merry  bird 

chants,  ' 

It  would  fall  to  the  ground  if  you  came  in. 
In  the  middle  leaps  a  fountain 
Like  sheet  lightning, 
Ever  brightening 
With  a  low  melodious  thunder; 
All  day  and  all  night  it  is  ever  drawn 
t  rom  the  bvain  of  the  purple  mountain 
Which  stands  in  the  distance  yonder  • 
It  springs  on  a  level  of  bowery  lawn, 
And  the  mountain  draws  it  from  Herven 

above. 
And  it  sings  a  song  of  undying  love  ; 
And  yet,  tho'  its  voice  be  so  cfear  and  full, 

"du"'^°"  '  ^*'"''  ""  "■■*  »° 

ft°wn,?.'''i'"V?'  T  '•  y""^""*^  '■°"'  w'«h  sin ; 
It  won  :!  shrink  to  the  earth  if  you  came  in. 


THE  SEA-FAIRIES. 
Slow  sail'd  the  weary  mariners  and  saw, 
Betwixt  the  green  brink  and  the  runnine 
foam,  * 

Sweet   faces,  rounded  arms,  and  bosoms 

prest 
To  little  harps  of  gold ;  and  while  they 

mused,  ' 

Whispering  to  each  other  half  in  fear, 
bhrill  music  reach'd  them  on  the  middle 

sea.  ^ 


% 


THE  POET'S  MIND. 


Vex  not  thou     <;  post's  mind 

With  thy  sh.,     x- W"  ■ 
Vex  not  tho,'  th       -.    .,    wnd  • 

For-thou  CJT,  :  ,n      Htinn.  ,t 
Gear  and  briv^rU  :   ■  ul  ,  W .  ever. 
riowmglike     c>.   ■>:?,     ive-; 
Bright  as  light,  mcJ  cit  '•'.13'wind. 


^^A''n"^J'°^!^  sophist,  come  not  anear ; 
All  the  place  is  holy  ground ; 


Whither  away,  whither  away,  whi.h.!r  awav  ? 
fly  no  more. 

Whithrt  away  from  the  high  grern  fielt'  7.)  d 
the  happy  blossoming  sh  .1  > 

Day  and  night   to  the  billow  Uie  fouutaia 
calls  ; 

Down  shower  the  gambolling  waterfalls 

t  rom  wandering  over  the  lea  : 

Out  of  the  live-green  heart  of  thedells 

1  liey  freshen  the  silvery-crimson  shells. 
And  thick  with  white  bells  the  clover-hill 

swells 
High  over  the  full-toned  sea  : 
O  hither,  come  hither  and  furl  your  sails. 
Come  hither  to  me  and  to  me  : 
Hitncr,  come  hither  and  frolic  and  play  • 
iir^*"^  .',V*.°"'y  "le  mew  that  wails ; 
We  will  sing  to  you  all  the  day  : 
Mariner,  mariner,  fuH  your  sails. 
For  here  are  the  blissful  downs  and  dales. 
And  tnerrily  merrily  carol  the  gales. 
And  the  spangle  dances  in  bight  and  bay, 


^m 


THE  DESERTED  HOUSE. -THE    '  J/.VC  SWAN.- A  DIRGE. 


the  merry  bird 


hi'h.srawav? 


And  the  rainbow  forms  and  flies  on  the  land 

Over  tlie  islands  free  ; 

And  tlie  rainbow  lives  in  the  curve  of  the 

sand ; 
Hither,  come  hither  and  see ; 
And  the  rainbow  Ji/mgs  on  the  poising  wave 
And  sweet  is  the  color  of  cove  and  cave 
And  sweet  ihaU  your  welcome  be  :        ' 
()  hithor,  cerne  hith^  i-  and  be  our  lords 
I' or  iiier.y  brid'".  .ir,;  we  : 
We  will  ki»K  sweet  kisses,  and  speak  sweet 

wore!  i : 

'\)'?^*">  '■  »-■"•  your  eyes  shall  glisten 
With  pleasure  and  love  and  jubilee  : 
1)  listen,  listen,  your  eyes  shall  glisten 
V\  hen  the  sharp  clear  twang  o?  the  KoJden 

chords 
Runs  up  the  ridged  sea. 
Y(ho  can  lieht  on  as  happy  a  shore 
All  the  world  o'er,  all  the  world  o'er? 
Whither  away?  listen   and  stay:   mariner, 

mariner,  fly  no  more, 


With  an  inner  voice  the  river  ran, 
Adown  it  Hoai     I  a  dying  swan, 

And  loudly  did  lament. 
It  was  the  middle  of  the  day. 
Ever  the  weary  wind  went  on. 

And  took  the  reed-tops  ai  it  went. 


THE  DESERTED  HOUSE. 
I. 

Life  and  Thought  have  gone  away 

Sid    by  side. 
Leaving  door  and  windows  wide  : 
Careless  tenants  they  1 


All  within  is  dark  as  night  : 
In  the  windows  is  no  light ; 
And  no  murmur  at  the  door, 
So  frequent  on  its  hinge  before. 

3- 

Close  the  door,  the  shutters  close. 
Or  thro'  the  windows  we  shall  sec 
The  nakedness  and  vacancy 

Of  the  dark  deserted  house. 


Come  awav  :  no  more  of  mirth 
■u   'u  ''^■'^  °''  '"erry-making  sound, 
ihe  house  was  builded  of  the  earth, 
And  shall  fall  again  to  ground. 

5- 
Come  away  :  for  Life  and  Thought 
ilcre  no  longer  dwell  , 
But  in  a  city  glorious  — 
A  great  and  distant  city  —  have  bou?!  f 
A  mansion  incorruptible. 
Would  they  could  have  stayed  with  us  I 

THE  DYING  SWAN. 
I. 
'^"^.Plain  was  grassy,  wild  and  bare, 

Wide,  w;ild,  and  open  to  the  air, 
wmch  had  built  up  everywhere 
An  under-roof  of  dolefiil  gray. 


Some  blue  peaks  in  the  distance  rose, 
And  white  against  the  cold-white  sky, 
.Shone  out  their  crowning  snows. 

One  willow  over  the  river  wept, 
And  shook  the  wave  as  the  wind  did  sigh  • 
.Vbove  in  the  wind  was  the  swallow. 
Chasing  itself  at  its  own  wild  will, 

'^'■r'u'^''  ''""P'  ''"^  niarish  green  and  still 

I  he  tangled  water-courses  slept, 
Shot  over  with  purple,  and  green,  and  yellow 

3- 
The  wild  swan's  death-hymn  took  the  soul 
Ol  that  waste  place  with  joy 
Hidden  in  sorrow  :  at  first  to  the  ear 
1  he  vvarble  was  low.  and  full  and  clear ; 
And  floating  about  the  under-sky, 
Prevailing  in  weakness,  the  coronach  stole  : 
aometimes  afar,  and  sometimes  aiiear 
But  anon  her  awful  jubilant  voice, 
With  a  music  strange  and  manifold, 
Flow'd  forth  on  a  caiol  free  and  bold  ; 
As  when  a  mighty  people  rejoice 
With  shawms,  and  with  cymbals,  and  liarna 
of  gold,  ^ 

And  the  tumult  of  their  acclaim  isroll'd 
1  hro  the  open  gates  of  the  city  afar, 
lo  the  shepherd  who  watcheth  the  evening 
star.  " 

And   the  creeping  mosses  and  clambering 

weeds. 
And  the  willow-branches  hoar  and  dank. 
And  the  wavy  swell  of  the  soughing  reeds. 
And  the  wave- worn  horns  of  the  echoingbanW 
And  the  silvery  marish-flowers  that  thron- 
1  he  desolate  creeks  and  pools  among,       ** 
Were  flooded  over  with  eddying  song. 


A  DIRGE. 


Now  is  done  thy  long  day's  work ; 
Fold  thy  paln.s  across  thy  breast. 
Fold  thine  aims,  turn  to  thy  rest. 

Let  them  rave. 
Shadows  of  the  silver  birk 
Sweep  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 


Thee  nor  carketh  care  nor  slander ; 
Nothing  but  the  small  cold  worm 
I-  retteth  thine  enshrouded  form. 

Let  them  rave. 
Light  and  shadow  ever  wander 
O'er  the  green  that  folds  thy  gravt. 

Let  them  rave. 


to 


LOVE  AND  DEATH. -THE  BALLAD  OF  ORIANA. 


Thou  wilt  not  turn'  upon  thy  bed ; 
Chanteth  not  the  brooding  bee 
Sweeter  tones  than  calumny  ? 

Let  them  rave. 
Thou  wilt  never  raise  thine  head 
From  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave 

Let  them  rave. 


Crocodiles  wept  tears  for  thee ; 

The  woodbine  and  eglatere 

Drip  sweeter  dews  than  traitor's  tear. 

Let  them  rave. 
Rain  makes  music  in  the  tree 
O'er  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave 

Let  them  rave. 


Round  thee  blow,  self-pleached  deep, 
Bramble-roses,  faint  and  pale, 
And  long  purples  of  the  dale. 

Let  them  rave. 
These  in  every  shower  creep 
Thro'  the  green  that  folds  thy  grjive. 

Let  them  rave. 


The  gold-eyed  kingcups  fine  ; 
The  frail  bluebell  peereth  over 
Rare  broidry  of  the  purple  clover. 

Let  them  rave. 
Kings  have  no  such  couch  as  thine, 
As  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 


Wild  words  wander  here  and  there 
God's  great  gift  of  speech  abused 
Makes  thy  memory  confused : 

But  let  them  rave. 
The  balm-cricket  carols  clear 
In  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 


LOVE  AND  DEATH. 

What  time  the  mighty  moon  was  gatherine 
light  * 

Love  paced  the  thymy  plots  of  Paradise, 
And  all  about  him  roll'd  his  lustrous  eyes  ; 
When,  turning  round  a  cassia,  full  in  view 
Death,  walking  all  alone  beneath  a  yew, 
And  talking  to  himself,  lirst  met  his  sight : 
'  You  must  begone,"  said  Death,  "  these 

walks  are  mine." 
Love  wept  and  spread  his  sheeny  vans  for 

flight ; 
Yet  ere  he  parted  said,  "  This  hour  h  thine  ; 
I'hou  art  the  shadow  of  life,  and  as  the  tree 
Stands  in  the  sim  and  shadows  all  beneath. 
So  in  the  light  of  great  eternity 
Life  eminent  creates  the  shade  of  death  ; 
Ihe  shadow  passeth  when  the  tree  shall  fall. 
But  I  shall  reign  forever  over  all." 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ORIANA. 

My  heart  is  wasted  with  my  woe, 

Oriana. 
There  is  no  rest  for  me  below, 

Oriana. 
When  the  long  dun  wolds  are  ribb'd  with 

snow, 
And  loud  the  Norland  whirlwinds  blow, 

Oriana, 
Alone  I  wander  to  and  fro, 

Oriana. 

Ere  the  light  on  dark  was  growing, 

Oriana, 
At  midnight  the  cock  was  crowing, 

Oriana  : 
Winds  were  blowing,  waters  flowing. 
We  heard  the  steeds  to  battle  going, 

Oiiana  ; 
Aloud  the  hollow  bugle  blowing, 

Oriana. 

In  the  yew-wood  black  as  night, 

Oriana, 
Ere  I  rode  into  the  fight, 

Oriana, 
While  blissful  tears  blinded  my  sight 
By  star-shine  and  by  moonlight, 

Oriana, 
I  to  thee  my  troth  did  plight, 

Oriana. 

She  stood  upon  the  castle  wall, 

Oriana : 
She  watch'd  my  crest  among  them  all, 

Oriana : 
She  saw  me  fight,  she  heard  me  call, 
When  forth  there  stept  a  foeman  tall, 

Oriana, 
Atween  me  and  the  castle  wall, 

Oriana. 

The  bitter  arrow  went  aside, 

Oriana : 
The  false,  false  arrow  went  aside, 

Oriana  : 
The  damned  arrow  glanced  aside. 
And  pierced  thy  heart,  my  love,  my  bride, 

Oriana  I 
Thy  heart,  my  life,  my  love,  my  bride, 

Oriana  ! 


Oh  I  narrow,  narrow  was  the  space, 

Oriana. 
Loud,  loud  rung  out  the  bugle's  brays, 

Oriana. 
Oh  I  deathful  stabs  were  dealt  apace, 
The  battle  deepen'd  in  its  place, 

Oriana ; 
But  I  was  down  upon  my  face. 

They  ^,hould  have  stabb'd  me  where  I  lay. 

Oriana ! 
How  could  I  rise  and  come  away, 

Oriana  ? 
How  could  I  look  upon  the  day? 


CIRCUMSTANCE.— THE  MERMAN.— THE  MERMAID. 


II 


They  should  have  stabb'd  me  where  I  lay, 

Oriana  — 
They  should  have  trod  me  into  clay, 

Oriana. 

O  breaking  heart  that  will  not  break, 
Oriana ! 

0  pale,  pale  face  so  sweet  and  meek, 

Oriana  I 
Thou  smilest,  but  thou  dost  not  speak, 
And  then  the  tears  run  down  my  cheek, 

Oriana  ; 
What  wantest  thou  ?  whom  dost  thou  seek, 

Oriana  ? 

1  cry  aloud  :  none  hear  my  cries, 

Oriana. 
Thou  comest  atween  me  and  the  skies, 

Oriana. 
I  feel  the  tears  of  blood  arise 
Up  from  my  heart  unto  my  eyes, 

Oriana. 
Within  thy  heart  my  arrow  lies, 

Oriana. 

0  cursed  hand  I  O  cursed  blow  1 
Oriana  ! 

0  happy  thou  tiiat  liest  low, 

Oriana  I 
All  night  the  silence  seems  to  flow 
Beside  me  in  my  utter  woe,  ' 

Oriana. 
A  weary,  weary  way  I  go, 

Oriana. 

When  Norland  winds  pipe  down  the  sea, 
Oriana, 

1  walk,  I  dare  not  think  of  thee, 

Ori,ina. 
Thou  liest  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
I  dare  not  die  and  come  to  thee, 

Oriana. 
I  hear  the  roaring  of  the  sea, 

Oriana. 


3. 


CIRCUMSTANCE. 

Two  children  in  two  neif-hbor  villases 
JPiaynig  mad  pranks  along  the  heafthy  leas; 
1  wo  strangers  meeting  at  a  festival ; 
1  wo  lovers  whispering  by  an  orchard  wall  : 
1  wo  lives  bound  fast  in  one  with  golden  ease  : 
1  wo  graves  grass-green  beside  a  gray  church- 
tower, 

t!^^'^'.^  ,j'"'  ''?'"  ""^'"^  a"<^  daisy-blossomed ; 
ivvo  children  m  one  hamlet  born  and  bred  : 
!so  runs  the  round  of  life  from  hour  to  hour. 

THE  MERMAN. 
I. 

Who  would  be 
A  merman  bold, 
Sitting  alone, 
Singing  alone 
Under  the  sea. 
With  a  crown  of  gold. 
On  a  throne  ? 


I  would  be  a  merman  bold  ; 
I  would  sit  and  sing  the  whole  of  the  day ; 
I  would  fill  the  sea-halls  with  a  voice  of 

power ; 
But  at  night  I  would  roam  abroad  and  play 
With  the  mermaids  in  and  out  of  the  rocks, 
Dressmg  their  hair  with   the  white  sea- 
flower  ; 
And  holding  them  back  by  their  flowing 

locks 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kiss'd  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly ; 
And  then  we  would  wander  away,-  away 
To  the  pale-green  sea-groves  straight  and 

Chasing  each  other  merrily.  ^. 

3- 

There  would  be  neither  moon  nor  star ; 
But  the  wave  would  make  music  above  us 

afar  — 
Low  thunder  and  light  in  the  magic  night  — 

Neither  moon  nor  star. 
We  would  call  aloud  in  the  dreamy  dells. 
Call  to  each  other  and  whoop  and  cry 
All  night,  merrily,  merrily  ; 
Ihey  would  pelt  me  with  starry  spangles 
and  shells. 
Laughing  and  clapping  their  hands  be- 
tween. 
All  night,  merrily,  merrily: 
But  I  would  throw  to  them  back  in  mine 
1  urkis  and  agate  and  almondine  : 
Ihen  leaping  out  upon  them  unseen 
A  ^i""'."^'  •^'^■'^  ''ism  often  under  the  sea. 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kiss'd  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly. 
Oh  !  what  a  happy  life  were  mine 
Under  the  hollow-hung  ocean  green  ! 
Soft  are  the  moss-beds  under  the  sea ; 
We  would  live  merrily,  merrily. 


THE  MERMAID. 
I. 

Who  would  be 
A  mermaid  fair. 
Singing  alone. 
Combing  her  hair 
Undv,r  the  sea. 
In  a  golden  curl 
With  a  comb  of  pearl, 
On  a  throne  ? 

2. 

I  would  be  a  mermaid  fair  ; 
I  would  sing  to  myself  the  whole  of  the 

day ; 
"'ith  a  comb  of  pearl  I  would  comb  my 

_  hair; 
And  still  as  I  comb'd  I  would  sing  and 

"  Who  is  It  loves  me  ?  who  loves  not  me  ? " 
I  would  comb  my  hair  till   my  ringlets 
would  fall, 
Low  adown,  low  adown, 


la 


i 


I 


M  I 


I;  ,  I 


SO^ATET  TO  7.  M.  K.-THB  LADY  OP  SHALOTT. 


i 


V, 


From  under  my  starry  sea-bud  crown 
A   J  T    1  **  adpwn.aiid  around, 
And  I  should  look  like  a  fountain  of  gold 
Sprniginir  alone  ^ 

With  a  shrill  inner  sound. 
Over  the  throne 
t;ii»i,  /" '''e  midst  of  ;he  hall: 
1  III  that  great  sea-snake  under  the  sea 
From  h,s  coiled  sleeps  in  the  central  deeos 
Would  slowly  trail  himself  sevenfold      ^ 
Round  the^hall  where  I  sate,  andtok  in  at 

S'li'i 'fJ''"'^'''  "'•"  ^y"  '°'-  'he  love  of  me 

WouM  fl.?  .'k'- "'""  ""''^^  'he  sea  '' 

vvouid  feel  their  immortality 

Die  m  their  hearts  for  the  love  of  me 


R^.f   h  PJ!'^''^  twihghts  under  the  sea  ; 
Woo  m.    "^Z'^-'''""'  ^"  ^°"'d  carry  me, 

Thin  >?^'i'"«  J-^!P^''«  under  the  sea  ; 
1  hen  a  1  the  dry  pied  things  that  be 
In  the  hue  ess  mosses  under  the  sea 
Would  curl  round  my  silver  feet  sflentiv 
All  looking  up  for  the  love  of  me        "^• 
And  if  I  should  carol  aloud,  from  aloft 
All  thmgsjhat  are  forked,  and  horned,  and 

Would  lean^out  from  the  hollow  sphere  of 

AH  looking  down  for  the  love  of  me. 


^"t'^'  "/f  "],'•  ^  "^""'^  zander  away,  awav 
I  woulUng  on  each  side  my  lLS„g 

^mt^l  ^^"''  '"'°^  ^^^  ''"•°"«  and  play 
With   he  mermen  in  and  out  of  the  rock«  • 

And  adown^the  steep  likfa'vl'a^e"'/!;':!:] 

From  tji^e  diamond-ledges  that  jut  from  the  j 

For  I  wouW'not  be  kiss'd  by  all  who  would  I 

Of  the  bold'merry  mermen  under  the  sea  ■ 
They  would  sue  me.  and  woo  me!;  and  flatUr 


SONNET  TO  J.  M.  K. 


■  thou  wilt 


My  hope  and  heart  is  with  thee- 
be 

A  latter  Luther  and  a  soldier-priest 

''fe^,t'=f"''<='^-l^^'-pi«from\he  master's 
Our  dusted  'velvets  have  much  need  of  thee  • 

BufsDurrM T^lf"^  worm-canker'd  homily; 
But  spurr  d  at  heart  with  fieriest  enerev 
!  ^o  embattail  and  to  wall  about  thy  cauL 
^''h  "-on-worded  proof,  hating  toYark 
T.  he  humming  of  the  drowsy  pulpit-drone 
^Cfclefr'  '^^'^•^^"','whil^  theTom, 

^''°'^'fluone'"'  ''"^  ''*'°'^-     ^''°"  ^^°«'  ^ 
Mounted  in  heaven  wilt  shoot  into  the  dark 
Arrows  of  lightnings.  I  will  stand  and  mark. 


POEMS. 

(published  1832.) 

hallK tt£abl^tre"d^  ^O.^^^^h^T  ^n^'^' .  ^^^  ^^  the  poems 
written  m  1833.]  ^^^  '^^*"  ^^^^^>  which,  with  one  exception,  were 

THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT. 

PART   I. 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 

Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 

1  ''^' F'°<he  the  wold  and  meet  the  skv  • 

And  thro-  the  field  the  road  runs  by    '^' 

To  many-tower'd  Camefot  • 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go  ' 

Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Kound  an  island  there  below, 

The  island  of  Shalott. 


Willows  whiten,  aspens  qu 
■Little  breezes  dusk  and  shi 


iver, 
liver 


Thro'  the  wave  that  runs  forever 

oy  the  island  in  the  river 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot. 

i;  our  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towers. 
.  Overlook  a  space  of  flowers, 

And  the  silent  isle  imbowers 
I  The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

By  tlie  margin,  willow-veil'd, 
blide  the  heavy  barges  trail'd 
«v  slow  horses  ;  and  unhail'd 
Ihe  shallop  flitteth  silken-sail'd 

R>,t  «,!,„  I  ^|*'"'"''J\S  down  to  Camelot  : 
Kut  who  hath  seen  her  wave  her  hand? 
or  at  the  casement  seen  her  stand  ? 


THE  LADY  OF  SHALOTT. 


n 


inder  the  sea ; 
would  carry  me, 
id  marry  me, 
i  under  the  sea ; 
ngs  that  be 
ider  the  sea 
ver  feet  silently, 
e  of  me. 
ud,  from  aloft 
d,  and  horned,  and 

e  hollow  sphere  of 

love  of  me. 


h  thee  —  thou  wilt 


V.    Thou  from  a 


Or  is  she  known  in  all  the  land, 
The  Lady  of  Shalott  ? 

Only  reapers,  reaping  early 
In  among  the  bearded  barley, 
Hear  a  song  that  echoes  cheerly 
From  the  river  winding  clearly, 

Down  to  tower'd  Camelot : 
And  by  the  moon  th3  reaper  weary, 
Piling  sheaves  in  uplands  airy. 
Listening,  whispers,  "  'T  is  the  fairy 

Lady  of  Shalott." 

PART    II. 

There  she  weaves  by  night  and  day 
A  magic  web  with  colors  gay. 
She  has  heard  a  whisper  say, 
A  curse  is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be, 
'  ;id  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
i'.nd  little  other  care  hath  she. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  moving  thro'  a  mirror  clear 
That  hangs  before  her  all  the  year, 
Shadows  of  the  world  appear. 
There  she  sees  the  highway  near 

Winding  down  to  Camelot : 
There  the  river  eddy  whirls. 
And  there  the  surly  village-churls. 
And  the  red  cloaks  of  market  girls, 

Pass  onward  from  Shalott. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad. 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad, 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad. 
Or  long-hair'd  page  in  crimson  clad, 

Goes  by  to  tower'd  Camelot; 
And  sometimes  thro'  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding  two  and  two  : 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

But  in  her  web  she  still  delights 
To  weave  the  mirror's  magic  sights, 
For  often  thro'  the  silent  nights 
A  funeral,  with  plumes  and  lights. 

And  music,  went  to  Camelot : 
Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead. 
Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed  ; 
"  I  am  half-sick  of  shadows,"  said 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

PART    III. 

A  now-sHOT  from  her  bower-eaves, 
lie  rode  between  the  barlcy-slicaves, 
Iha  sini  came  dazzling  thro'  the  ler'ves. 
And  flamed  upon  the  brazen  greaves 

Of  bold  Sir  Lancelot. 
A  rcdcross  knight  forever  kneeled 
I'o  a  Indy  in  his  shield. 
That  sparkled  on  the  yellow  fiela. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

'ihe  jrcnimy  bridle  gl.'tter'd  free, 
Li,ie  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 


Hung  in  the  golden  Galaxy. 
The  bridle  bells  rang  merrily 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot : 
And  from  his  blazon'd  baldric  slung 
A  mighty  silver  bugle  hung. 
And  as  he  rode  his  armor  rung. 

Beside  remote  Shalott. 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather 
Thick-jewell'd  shone  the  saddle-leather. 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet-feather 
Burned  like  one  burning  flame  together, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
As  often  thro'  the  purple  night. 
Below  the  starry  clusters  bright. 
Some  bearded  meteor,  trailing  light, 

Moves  over  still  Sha'ott. 

His  broad  clear  brow  in  sunlight  glpw'd  ; 
On  burnish'd  hooves  his  war-horse  trode  ; 
From  underneath  his  helmet  flow'd 
His  coal-black  curls  as  on  he  rode. 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot. 
From  the  bank  and  from  the  river 
He  flash'd  into  the  crystal  mirror, 
"  Tirra  lirra,"  by  the  ri,ver 

Sang  Sir  Lancelot. 

She  left  the  web,  she  left  the  loom. 
She  made  three  paces  thro'  the  room, 
She  saw  the  water-lily  bloom. 
She  saw  the  helmet  and  the  plume. 

She  look'd  down  to  Camelot. 
Out  flew  the  web  and  floated  wide ; 
The  mirror  crack'd  from  side  to  side  ; 
"The  curse  is  come  upon  me,"  cried 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

PART    IV. 

In  the  stormy  east-wind  straining, 
The  pale  yellow  woods  were  waning. 
The  broad  stream  in  his  banks  complaining, 
Heavily  the  low  sky  raining 

Over  tower'd  Camelot ; 
Down  she  came  and  found  a  boat 
Beneath  a  willow  left  afloat, 
And  round  about  the  prow  she  wrote 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

And  down  the  river's  dim  expanse- 
Like  some  bold  seer  in  a  trance. 
Seeing  all  his  own  mischance  — 
With  a  glassy  countenance 

Did  she  look  to  Camelot 
And  at  the  closing  of  the  day 
She  loosed  the  chain,  and  down  she  lay ; 
The  broad  stream  bore  her  far  away. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

Lying,  robed  in  snowy  white 
That  loosely  flew  to  left  and  risht  — 
The  leaves  upon  her  falling  light  — 
Thro'  the  noises  of  the  night 

She  floated  down  to  Camelot : 
And  as  the  boat-head  wound  along 
The  willowy  hills  and  fields  among. 
They  heard  her  singing  her  last  song, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 


i 


IB 


ibeLadyof  Shalott. 
Under  tower  and  balconv 
Bygarden-wallandgS 

All  fhi  b^^?^'^"  'or  fear. 

TheLadyofShilott." 

MARIANA  ^HE  SOUTH 
With  one  black  shadow  at  it<i  fe»» 

And  "  Ave  A^a  '  "^'^•'^  k'"^"  "'°«"' 
-nd..Ah,.^;,nt'-Jn.^^ 


And"AveA7an."''^\''^^"'°«"' 
To  hve  forgotten.  Ind  loVe  foJLfn - 
^''^•^s'j^'- carol  sadder  grew 

"  \To  J      '^•'ary,    was  her  moan 
And'' Ah"" ^i,:''  '-^  "■;?'''  •''^'^  morn  "  ■ 

To  live  fbrStten"!;  f  ,*°  '^^^"  ^'^ne 
lorgotten.  and  love  forlorn." 

B^fZ'ijraf-^i^Kas, 
CompIa,^rngI^^jJ>;,'"";"''!r'dshe: 

mom?"  P"'^"   "'ght   and 


But  day  increased  from  henfM^  "^"'f' 

And  seem'd  knee  dei?'  ^^'"■ 
,  And  heard  her  nativ^^h  "  mountain  grass, 

She  woke  •  thrhnhM^"^?'  ?°'  "^"e. 

Struck  up  SLw"fh\°,';'.^?''«ht 
'  She  whfsner'V '^^  '{^""'"Ig  «'■•»"• 

"Sweet  Mmher  I^^  '  "'«''!  °'"  '"om. 
Liveforg°t?a'^:,'3fe"f°JiS-.,^'°- 

"^Ol'dlel?^"  '1°'"  her  bosom  drew 

So  be  alone  fo?e've.S"""'  '"'^^' 

To  live  forgotten,  and  die  forlorn  I" 
^An^mf'"'""'"/^«'"a"''ngday 

The  one  black  shadow  frota  ,he  1.all 

AnddayJd*,^igSatle"a*r°"'' 
To  hve  forgotten,  and  love  foriorn." 

%^.^„^«  dry  cicala  sung, 

BaTka;%X^^,^aas  of  h    e^; 

Thll^e'^iflt^-She^aS.''""^' 
T  ,1    J"  ^P^«s  rosy-bricht 

A^A°^'^'  •^'='''^^"  rose "thenLht '*"""' 


aid.  "but  I  wake  alone, 
n.  J  wake  forlorn." 

nor  lamb  would  bleat, 
d  cross  the  vault,        ' 
n  heat  to  heat, 
'd  steaming  salt  ; 
'ept  again, 

ep  m  mountain  grass 
f  breezes  pass,  ^  ' 
lown  the  glen, 
iep  a  lower  moan, 
as  at  night  and  mom. 
spmt  IS  here  alone, ' 
and  IS  forlorn." 

was  a  dream : 
as  not  there. 
'  the  stream 
steady  glare 
iere  and  small.     • 
ty-white  ; 
the  light 
ndmg  wall, 
a  stifled  moan 
at  night  or  mom. 
"?  not  here  alone 
die  forlorn." 

>m  drew 
'  her  worth, 
nust  needs  be  true 
n  earth."  ' 

he  door, 
't,  and  say, 
ws  away, 

hanged  her  tone, 
ose  end  is  scorn, 
rt  alone, 
i  die  forlorn  J " 

[day 
the  door, 

'y, 

no  more." 
all 

'  decreased, 
east 

the  wall, 
"nade  her  moan, 
,nighttomorn, 
left  alone 
3ve  forlorn." 


he  sea  ; 

;  flung, 

I. 

t 

:r  tears. 


EL  E  A  NOR E. 


ELEANORE. 


IS 


fin 


apricrcs. 


night. 

'e  her  moan, 

at  knows  r.ot 

1  alone, 
■e  forlorn." 


Thy  dark  eyes  cpen'd  not. 

Nor  first  reveal'd  themselves  to  English  air 

lot  there  is  nothing  here. 
Which,  from  the    outward    to  the    inward 

brought. 
Moulded  thy  baby  thought. 
Far  off  from  human  neighborhood, 

Thou  wert  bom,  on  a  summer  mom, 
A  mile  beneath  the  cedar-wood. 
Thy  bounteous  forehead  was  not  fann'd 
With  breezes  from  our  oaken  glades, 
But  thou  wert  nursed  in  some  delicious  land 

Of  lavish  lights,  and  floating  shades  : 
And  flattering  thy  childish  thought 
The  oriental  fairy  brought. 
At  the  moment  of  thy  birth, 
From  old  well-heads  of  haunted  rills. 
And  the  hearts  of  purple  hills, 

And  shadow'd  coves  on  a'sunny  shore. 
The  choicest  wealth  of  all  the  earth. 
Jewel  or  shell,  or  starry  ore. 
To  deck  thy  cradle,  Eleanore. 

3. 

Or  the  yellow-banded  bees, 
1  hro'  half-open  lattices 
Coming  in  the  scented  breeze, 

Fed  thee,  a  child,  lying  alone, 

ll'd  — **'  honey  in  fairy  gardens 

A  glorious  child,  dreaming  alone. 

With  fhi  ^'°^'  r"'*^''  "P.°"  y'^'^l'ns  down, 
With  the  hum  of  swarming  bees 
Into  dreamful  slumber  lull'd. 


I  Who  may  minister  to  thee  ? 
;  Summer  herself  should  minister 

To  ther  with  fruitage  golden-rinded 
1  „     "n  golQjn  salvers,  or  it  may  be, 
I  Youngest  Autumn,  in  a  '-ower 
Grape-thicken'd  from  the  light,  and  blinded 

Of  t«Jr.nfT"^  ^  deep-hued  bell-like  flower 
Ot  iragrant  trailers,  when  the  air 
Sleepeth  over  all  the  heavei. 

in   "agthat  fronts  the  Even, 
.     .         All  along  the  shadowing  shore. 
■Crimsons  over  an  inland  mere, 
Eleanore ! 

[How  may  full-sail'd  verse  express, 

How  may  measured  words  adore 
Inf  .k     ^  f"  !-flowing  harmony 
|Of  thy  swan-hke  stateliness, 

Eleanore.? 
Inf  .u    a     '."''"'■'ant  symmetry 
|Of  thy  floating  gracefulne.ss, 
EleSnore  ? 
^very  turn  and  glance  of  thine. 
Every  lineament  divine, 

Eleanore, 
And  the  steady  sunset  glow, 
1  hat  stays  upon  thee  ?    For  in  thee 


h  nothing  sudden,  nothing  single  : 
l-ike  two  streams  of  incense  free 
From  one  censer,  in  one  shrine, 
Ihought  and  motion  mingle. 
Mingle  ever.     Motions  flow 
To  one  another,  even  as  the' 
1  hey  were  modulated  so 
„„  .  .  ,.    I'o  an  unheard  melody. 
Which  liy,  -  about  thee,  and  a  sweep 

Uf  richcot  pauses,  evermore 
Drawn  from  each  other  mellow-deep; 
Who  may  express  thee,  Eleanore? 


I  stand  before  thee,  Eleanore  • 

I  see  thy  beauty  gradually  unfold, 
iJaily  and  hourly,  more  and  more. 
J  muse,  as  in  a  trance,  the  while 

Slowly,  as  from  a  cloud  of  gold. 
Comes  out  thy  deep  ambrosial  smile. 
I  muse,  as  in  a  trance,  whene'er 

The  languors  of  thy  love-deep  eyes 
1' loat  on  to  me.     I  would  I  were 

So  tranced,  so  rapt  in  ecstasies, 
lo  stand  apart,  and  to  adore. 
Gazing  on  thee  forevermore, 
Serene,  imperial  Eleanore  I 


slowly 


Sometimes,  with  most  intensity 

Gazing,  I  seem  to  see 

Thoiight  folded  over  thought,  smiling  asleep, 

Slowly  awaken'd,  grow  so  full  and  deep 

In  thy  large  eyes,  that,  overpower'd  qilite. 

1  cannot  veil,  or  droop  my  sight. 

But  am  as  nothing  in  its  light : 

As  tho'  a  star,  in  inmost  heaven  set. 

i-v  n  while  we  gaze  on  it. 

Should    slowly  round  his  orb,   and 

„  grow 

f?vm''"'1?"'  '''^^  ^''^«  a  sun  remain 
d-then  as  slowly  fade  again. 
And  draw  itself  to  what  it  was  before  : 
ao  full,  so  deep,  so  slow, 
thought  seems  to  come  and  go 
In  thy  large  eyes,  imperial  Elefnore. 

7- 
As  thunder-clouds  that,  hung  on  high. 

Roof  d  the  world  with  doubt  and  fear, 
t  loating  thro'  an  evening  atmosphere, 
Grow  golden  all  about  the  sky ; 
In  thee  all  passion  becomes  passionless. 
1  ouch  d  by  thy  spirit's  mellowness, 
1-osing  his  fire  and  active  might 

In  a  silent  meditation. 
Falling  into  a  still  delight. 

And  luxury  of  contemplation : 
As  waves  that  up  a  quiet  cove 
Rolling  slide,  and  Iviji?  still 
Shadow  forth  the'banks  at  wil'  • 
Or  sometimes  they  swell  and  move, 
Pressing  up  against  the  land. 
With  motions  of  the  outer  sea  : 
And  the  self-same  influence  ' 
Controlleth  all  the  soul  and  sense 
Ul  Fassion  gazing  upon  thee 


i6 


";::'"  ;CV'^^---i'H -esses  .„- 

'r?alh^?rC^?;e1°Th"r'"^ 

moon;         ""  ""=  ^""^et  and  the 

,^  Or.  in  a  shadowy  saloon 

And  i      ^  ""-'1'?  "P""  '"'y  face        ' 
And  a  languid  fire  creeps^  ' 

I  d.e  with  my  delight,  before 
So  dying  ever,  Elefnore' 


^>^^^/zz^^.^^^^^^^^^ 


THE   MILLER'S  DAUGHTER, 
^'^^tj'e  wealthy  miller  yet 

In  yonder  chair  I  see  him  sit 

4  i^SS£^^-er., 

4-?-;;l:  S  s-1  d 

H.S  memory  scarce  can  makem^'S; 

Tha^wf;,^''^^'- '"y  darling  wife 
l"atwemayd.etheself.sa,pn,y. 

Have  I  not  fm.pj  -  i.. 
^  **  ^'">°st  live  my  life  again 


It  seems  i{Si^°-°JJee  mine -- 
Across  the  walnuts  aKe  wine - 

'^"LatViV°"^^\^^'^''-s«boy 

IWhee   ,'     oK^"°''''«i'>e, 
'      I-ksd^:i^,'^--»-ountedi;^^^ 

H-lieTaif-l"^^S^''^" 
Each  mo  n  my   fe!"^'*^  ^'°"«  «"  long. 

%-ewi,v;^K:S[&if 
'''I"fi';i1^^*^"''"'^-e 

"lose  long  mosses  in  the  stream. 
%lTJt.  "^"dge  I  lean-d  to  henr 

Or  those  hree  K   T'^P'"S-stone^ 
Inmasses7hife{;'^?,ryVo';,l'^-^ 

Bi>t.  Alice  what  an  hour  was  th.f 


"^  i°7^-^°"f  r  had  somewhere  reid 

That  went  and  came  a  «ind  times 

!Th3-oVarute^-tir-.- 

'      Withn,  the  dark  and  dimpfed  beck. 
^ThT  '■'''"^"'ber,  you  had  set 
|AEy;rrbfx°'fl!:?"^^™-''-dge 


^ 

Ilov 

'I'h 

1 

Fori 

An 

Myn 

'"o 

" 

Tom 

^ 

An 

9 

[  love 

9nB 

Th 

^1 

rhes 

^ 

Th( 

ith  thee  to  walk 
>  woo  thee  mine- 
ner  talk 
sand  the  wine  — 

istless  boy 

n  of  tlie  squire, 

;on  mounted  high 

Ihe  village  spire  .- 

■  i  and  you 

ed  alone  so  long, 

was  broken  thro' 

"■K  s  matin  song. 

inder  dove 
making  moan  ; 
es,  my  love, 
my  own. 
h  fancy  play'd 

at  pleasant  dream - 
•  sway'd 

ses  in  the  stream. 

an'd  to  hear 
;  down  with  noise, 
verywhere 
ice  and  poise, 
en  they  sprung 
eppmg-sfones, 
s  near,  that  hung 
•"I'ky  cones. 

r  was  that, 
the  woods 
ime  and  sat 
vhen  their  buds 
reezy  blue  ; 
hsent  fool, 
ight  hf  you, 
er  pool. 

I'here  read, 

ed  strain, 

ly  head 

of  the  brain. 

ng  long, 

1  the  rhymes, 

housand  times. 

ty  mood 
s  die ; 
lod, 

it  my  eye ; 
orm, 
ng  neck, 
I  warm 
pled  beck. 

I  set, 

;ment's  edge 

ptte. 

n  the  ledge  : 

above 

and  bright  — 

ny  love, 

their  light. 


T//E  MILLER'S  DAUGHTER. 


I  loved,  and  lore  dispell'rf  the  fear 

That  I  should  die  an  early  death  ; 
For  love  possess'd  the  atmosphere. 

And  fill'd  the  breast  with  purer  breath. 
My  mother  thought,  What  ails  the  boy? 

For  I  was  alter'd,  and  be^an 
To  move  about  the  house  with  joy. 

And  with  the  certain  step  of  man.      " 

1  loved  the  brimming  wave  that  swam 

Thro'  qi^iet  meadows  round  the  mill, 
The  sleepy  pool  above  the  dam, 

The  pool  beneath  it  never  still, 
The  ineal-sacks  on  the  whiten'd  floor. 

The  dark  round  of  the  dripping  wheel, 
The  very  air  about  the  door 

Made  misty  with  the  floating  meal. 

A  "I  oft  in  ramblings  on  the  wold, 

\/'ieii  April  nights  began  to  blow, 
And  April's  crescent  glimmer'd  cold, 

1  saw  the  village  lights  below; 
I  knew  vour  taper  far  away. 

And  full  at  heart  of  trembling  hope, 
From  off  the  wold  I  came,  and  lay 

Upon  the  freshly-flower'd  slope. 

The  deep  brook  groan'd  beneath  the  mill : 
And   "by  that  lamp,"  I   thought,    '^she 
sits!" 
^The  white  chalk-quarry  from  the  hill 
\i  ^'^^ni'd  to  the  flying  moon  by  fits. 
\   O  that  I  were  beside  her  now  1 
J    O  will  she  answer  if  I  call  } 
iO  would  she  give  me  vow  for  vow, 
Sweet  Alice,  if  I  told  her  all.'  " 

Sometimes  I  saw  you  sit  and  spin  ; 

And,  in  the  pauses  of  the  wind, 
Sometimes  I  heard  you  sing  within  ; 

Sometimes  your  shadow  cross'd  the  blind. 
It  last  you  rose  and  moved  the  light, 

And  the  long  shadow  of  the  chair 
Flitted  across  into  the  night. 

And  all  the  casement  darken'd  there. 

3ut  when  at  last  I  dared  to  speak, 

1  he  lanes,  you  know,  were  white  with  May 
Cour  ripe  hps  moved  not,  but  your  cheek 

l*Jush  d  like  the  coming  of  the  day  • 
Vnd  so  It  was  —  half  slv,  half-shy. 

You  would,  and  would  not,  little  one  ' 
Vlthough  I  pleaded  tenderly, 

And  you  and  I  were  all  alone. 

ind  slowly  was  my  mother  brought 

lo  yield  consent  to  my  de'ire  • 
Bhe  wish'd  me  happy,  but  she  thought 

I  might  have  look'd  a  little  higher  ; 
ind  I  was  young  —  too  young  to  wed 


«7 


Vet  must  I  love  her  fo.- 
fetch  vour  Alice  hero,"  she  said  :'  ' 
■Tier  eyelid  quiver'd  as  she  spake. 

r^'l?  ''°a'"  ^  ^^^"'  *°  '^tch  my  bride  : 
I    Init,  Alice,  you  were  ill  at  ease ; 
Ihis  dress  and  that  by  turns  you  tried 
Ipo  fearful  that  you  should  not  please. 


I  loved  you  better  for  your  fears, 
I  knew  you  could  not  look  but  well ; 

And  dews,  that  would  have  fall'n  in  tears, 
1  kiss'd  away  before  they  fell. 

I  watch'd  the  little  flutterings. 

The  doubt  my  mother  would  not  see  ; 
She  spoke  at  large  of  many  things. 

And  at  the  last  she  spoke  of  me  ; 
And  turning  look'd  upon  your  face. 

As  near  this  door  you  sat  apart. 
And  rose,  and,  with  a  silent  grace 

Approaching,  press'd  you  heart  to  heart 

Ah,  well  — but  sing  the  foolish  song 

I  gave  you,  Alice,  on  the  day 
When,  arm  in  arm,  we  went  along, 

A  pensive  pair,  and  you  were  gay 
With  bridal  flowers— that  I  may  seem. 

As  in  the  nights  of  old,  to  lie 
Beside  the  mill-wheel  in  the  stream. 

While  those  full  chestnuts  whisper  by. 

It  is  the  miller's  daughter. 
And  she  is  grown  so  dear,  so  dear, 

That  I  would  be  the  jewel 
That  trembles  at  her  ear  : 

For  hid  in  ringlets  day  and  night, 

1  'd  touch  her  neck  so  warm  and  white. 

And  I  would  be  the  girdle 
About  her  dainty,  dainty  waist. 

And  her  heart  would  beat  against  me, 
In  sorrow  and  in  rest : 

And  I  should  know  if  it  beat  right, 

I  'd  clasp  it  round  so  close  and  tight. 

And  I  would  be  the  necklace, 
And  all  day  long  to  fall  and  rise 

Upon  her  balmy  bosom, 
With  her  laughter  or  her  sighs, 

And  I  would  lie  so  light,  so  light, 

I  scarce  should  be  unclasp'd  at  night. 

A  trifle,  sweet !  which  true  love  spells  — 

True  love  interprets—  right  alone. 
His  light  upon  th2  letter  dwells, 

For  all  the  spirit  is  his  own 
So,  if  I  waste  words  now,  in  truth. 

You  must  blame  Love.     His  early  rage 
Had  force  to  make  me  rhyme  in  youth, 

And  makes  me  talk  too  much  in  age. 

And  now  those  vivid  hours  are  gone, 

Like  mine  own  life  to  me  thou  art, 
Where  Past  and  Present,  wound  in  one. 

Do  make  a  garland  for  the  heart : 
So  sing  that  other  song  I  made, 

Halt-anger'd  with  my  happy  lot. 
The  day,  when  in  the  chestnut  shade 

I  found  the  blue  Forget-me-not. 

Love  that  hath  us  in  the  net. 
Can  he  pass,  and  we  forget.'        * 
Many  suns  arise  and  set. 
Many  a  chance  the  years  beget. 
Love  the  gift  is  Love  the  debt. 
Even  so. 


i8 


J^A  TIMA.  -  (ENONE. 


\-\ 


(I 
I    I 


Love  IS  hurt  with  jar  and  fret 
lK)ve  IS  made  a  vague  regret, 
f  yes  with  idle  tears  are  wet. 
Idle  habit  links  us  yet. 
What  is  love  ?  for  we  forget : 
Ah,  no !  no  I 

LMik  thro'  mine  eyes  with  thine.    True  wife. 

Kound  my  true  heart  thine  arms  entwine  ; 
My  other  dearer  life  in  life, 

Look  thro"  my  very  soul  with  thine  I 
Uiitouch'd  with  any  shade  of  years. 

May  those  kind  eyes  forever  dwell ! 
iney  have  not  shed  a  many  tears, 

Dear  eyes,  since  first  I  knew  them  well. 

Yet  tears  they  shed  :  they  had  their  part 
TiT    ^M,"'''-?'  '•  .'°''  w'len  time  was  ripe. 
1  he  still  affection  of  the  heart 

Became  an  outward  breathing  type. 
That  into  stillness  past  again, 

And  left  a  want  unknown  before  ; 
Although  the  loss  that  brought  us  pain, 

mat  loss  but  made  us  love  the  more, 

With  farther  lockings  on.    The  kiss, 

Ihe  woven  arms,  seem  but  to  be 
Weak  symbols  of  the  settled  bliss, 
n  T .K  ?<!?'S'','',  ^  ^^^'^  '°"nd  in  thee : 
But  that  God  bless  thee,  dear- who  wrought 
117- uu?P"'."^*°°"e  equal  mind—  ^ 

w-.K  f,^'"?®  ^^y?"''  "lope  or  thought. 
With  blessings  which  no  words  can  find 


With  one  long  kiss  my  whole  soul  thro' 
My  lips,  as  sunlight  drinketh  dew. 

Before  he  mounts  the  hill,  I  know 
He  Cometh  quickly  :  from  below 
bwert  gales,  as  from  deep  gardens,  blow 
Before  him,  striking  on  my  brow 
In  my  dry  brain  my  spirit  soon, 
Down-deepening  from  swoon  to  swoon. 
Famts  like  a  dazzled  morning  moon 

The  wind  sounds  like  a  silver  wire, 
And  Ironi  beyond  the  noon  a  fire 
Is  pour  d  upon  the  hills,  and  nigher 
Ihe  skies  stoop  down  in  their  desire  ; 
And,  isled  in  sudden  seas  of  licht. 

R^rriJ!"*;  Pu7"'^  "^ro'  with  fierce  delight. 
Bursts  mto  blossom  in  his  sight. 

Mv  whole  soul  waiting  silently. 

All  naked  in  a  sultry  sky. 

Droops  blinded  with  his  shining  eye : 

I  W/ possess  him  or  will  die. 
I  will  grow  round  him  in  his  place. 
Orow,  live,  die  looking  on  his  face,    ■ 
Die,  dying  clasp'd  in  his  embrace. 


Anse,  and  let  us  wander  forth,         \ 
To  yon  old  mill  across  the  wolds  ; 
!>  or  look,  the  sunset,  south  and  north, 
A   J 'i      ^'^  ^^^  ^*'e  in  rosy  folds, 
And  fires  your  narrow  casement  glass. 

louching  the  uillen  pool  below  : 
On  the  chalk-hill  the  bearded  grass 
Is  dry  and  dewless.     Let  us  go 


FATIMA. 

O  Love,  Love,  Love  I  O  withering  might  I 
O  sun  that  from  thy  noonday  height 
Shudderest  when  I  strain  my  sight. 
Ihrobbing  thro'  all  thy  heat  and  light, 
1-0,  falling  from  my  constant  mind. 

I  whiYrt'^i^"'^  wither'd,  deaf  and  blind. 
1  whirl  like  leaves  in  roaring  wind. 

Last  night  I  wasted  hateful  hours 
Below  the  city's  eastern  towers : 
1  thirsted  for  the  brooks,  the  showers : 
I  roll  d  among  the  tender  flowers : 
1  crush  d  them  on  my  breast,  my  mouth  : 

nf  .u  .^i*'''"'?'''  ^^^  burning  drouth 
U»  that  long  desert  to  the  south. 

Last  night,  when  some  one  spoke  his  name 
From  my  swift  blood  that  went  and  car^^  ' 
A  thousand  little  shafts  of  flame 
Were  shiver'd  in  my  narrow  frame. 
O  Love,  O  fire  I  once  he  drew 


CENONE. 

There  lies  a  vale  in  Ida,  lovelier 
Ihan  all  the  valleys  of  Ionian  hills. 
Ihe  swimming  vapor  slopes  athwart  the  glen, 
i'uts  forth  an  arm,  and  creeps  from  pine  to 
pine,  f        lu 

And  loiters,  slowly  drawn.     On  either  hand 
1  he  lawns  and  meadow-ledges  midway  down 
Hang  rich  m  flowers,  and  far  below  them 

roars 
The  long  biook  falling  thro'  the  clov'n  ravine 
In  cataract  after  cataract  to  the  sea 
Behind  the  valley  topmost  Gargarus 

fron  '^^^^  ^^^  morning :  but  in 

The  gorges,  opening  wide  apart,  reveal 
Iroas  and  liion's  column'd  citadel. 
[  1  he  crown  of  Troas. 

HT        e  ^  r^  Hither  came  at  noon 

Mournful  CEnone,  wandering  forlorn 
Of  Pans,  once  her  playmate  on  the  hills 
Her  cheek  had  lost  the  rose,  and  round  her 

neck 
Floated  her  hair  or  seem'd  to  float  in  rest 
She,  leaning  on  a  fragment  twined  with  Vine, 
bang  to  the  stillness,  till  the  mountain-shade 
bioped  downward  to  her  seat  from  the  upper 


"  O  mother  Ida,  roany-fountain'd  Ida, 
Dear  mother  Ida.  Jiearken  ere  I  die 
Jb  or  now  the  noonday  quiet  holds  the  hill  : 
i  he  grasshopper  is.  silent  in  die  grass  : 
Ihe  hzard,  with  his  shadow  on  the  stone. 
Rests  like  a  shadow,  and  the  cicala  sleeps, 
f.  iIi^/pL^i  'IP^'^/s, droop  :  the  golden  bee 
Is  hly-cradled  :  I  alone  awake 
My  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  love 


Myh 

And 

"0 

Dear 

Hear 

That 

I  am 

• 

Hear 
My  sc 
Rose 

A  cIoL 

That, 

My  he 

"0 

ny  whole  soul  thro' 
drinketh  dew. 

lill,  I  know 

cm  below 

:ep  gardens,  blow 

I  my  brow. 

spirit  soon, 

tn  swoon  to  swoon, 

morning  moon. 

I  silver  wire, 

oon  a  fire 

!,  and  nigher 

n  their  desire ; 

seas  of  light, 

o'  with  fierce  delight, 

n  his  sight. 

silently, 

^'    .   . 

<  shining  eye : 
ill  die. 

in  his  place, 
?  on  his  face, 
bis  embrace. 


fE. 

I,  lovelier 

onian  hills. 

:es  athwart  the  glen, 

:reeps  from  pine  to 

1.     On  either  hand 
edges  midway  down 
nd  far  below  them 

ro'  the  clov'n  ravine 

to  the  sea. 

it  Gargarus 

5  morning:  but  in 

:  apart,  reveal 
'd  citadel, 

ither  came  at  noon 
:ing  forlorn 
ite  on  the  hills, 
ise,  and  round  her 

1  to  float  in  rest, 
t  twined  with  vine, 
le  mountain-shade 
:at  from  the  upper 


)untain'd  Ida, 

ere  I  die. 

:  holds  the  hill  : 

11  the  grass  : 

^  on  the  stone, 

le  cicala  sleeps. 

the  golden  bee 

ike. 

ly  heart  of  love, 


(ENONE. 


My  heart  is  breaking,  and  my  eyes  are  dim, 
And  I  am  all  aweary  of  my  life. 

"  O  mother  Ida,  many-fountain'd  Ida, 
Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
Hear  nie  O  Earth,  hear  me  O  Hills,  O  Caves 
That  house  the  cold  crown'd  snake  I  O  moun- 
tain brooks, 
I  am  the  daughter  of  a  P-ver-God, 
Hear  me,  for  I  will  speaK,  and  build  up  all 
.My  sorrow  with  my  song,  as  yonder  walls 
Kose  slowly  to  a  music  slowly  breathed, 
A  cloud  that  gather'd  shape  :  for  it  may  be 
..J  That,  while  I  speak  of  it,  a  little  while 
if  ^^y  ^^art  may  wander  from  its  deeper  woe. 

I      "O  mother  Ida,  many-fountain'd  Ida, 
I  Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
\  I  waited  underneath  the  dawning  hills, 
I  Aloft  the  mountain  lawn  was  dewy-dark, 
J  And  dewy-dark  aloft  the  mountain  pine  : 
I  Beautiful  x^aris,  evil-hearted  Paris, 
,  Leading  a  jet-black  goat  white-horn 'd,  white- 

hooved, 
\  Came  up  from  reedy  Simois  all  alone. 

"O  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
Far-off  the  torrent  cail'd  me  from  the  cleft : 
I  Far  up  the  solitary  morning  smote 
iThe  streaks  of  virgin  snow.     With  down- 
1  dropt  eyes 

jl  sat  alone  :  white-breasted  like  a  star 
I  Fronting  the  dawn  he  moved  ;  a  leopard  skin 
lUroopd  from  his  shoulder,  but  his  sunny 
I  hair  •' 

ICluster'd  about  his  temples  like  a  God's  • 
lAnd  his  cheek,  brighten'd  as  the  foam-bovr 
I  brightens 

■When  the  wind  blows  the  foam,  and  all  mv 
I  heart  ■' 

IWent  forth  to  embrace  him  coming  ere  he 
*  came. 


>» 


iTi"  D"""  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 

iJle  smiled,  and  opening  out  his  milk-white 

■  palm 

)isclosed  a  fruit  of  pure  Hesperian  gold 
lliat  smelt  ambro.sially,  and  while  I  look'd 
\x^A  hsten'd,  the  full-flowing  river  of  speech 
^ame  down  upon  my  heart. 

iBeautiful-brow'd  CEnone','  m'^'oZ"oS,"°"^' 

Sliehold  this  fruit,  whose  gleaming  rind  en- 

1  grav  n 

I"  For  the  most  fair,"  would  seem  to  award  it 

I  thme, 

lAs  lovelier  than  whatever  Oread  haunt 

IT  he  knons  of  Ida,  loveliest  in  all  grace 

»       ""b-oT"'*'  ^"^   "'*   *^''"'"   "^  '"""^'^ 

"Dear  mother  Tdri,  hearken  ere  I  die. 

VxW^aI  'j'^  i,'e?^°'"  of  his  lips  to  mine, 
I  And  added   'This  was  cast  upon  the  board, 
I&-?'-  'V'  ^V^rft^d  presence  of  the  Gods 
IRanged  in  the  halls  of  Peleus;  whereupon 
IKose  feud,  with  question  unto  whom  't  were 
■         aue; 


Rut  hght-foot  Ins  brought  it  yester-eve. 
Delivering,  that  to  me,  by  common  voice 
lilected  umpire,  Herd  comes  to-day, 
J  alias  and  Aphrodite,  claiming  each 
1  his  meed  ot  fairest.    Thou,  within  the  cave 
JJehind  yon  whispering  tuft  of  oldest  pine, 
Mayst  well  behold  them  unbeheld,  unheard 
Hear  all,  and  see  thy  Paris  judge  of  Gods.' 

"  Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die 
It  w\is  the  deep  midnoon  :  one  silvery  cloud 
/  .r*  I  •    ,'  ""^  ^^y  between  the  piny  sides 
Of  this  long  glen.     Then  to  the  bower  thev 

came,  •' 

Naked  they  came  to  that  smooth-swarded 

bower. 
And  at  their  feet  the  crocus  brake  like  fire. 
Violet,  amaracus,  and  asphodel. 
Lotos  and  lilies  :  and  a  wind  arose,      ' 
And  overhead  the  wandering  ivy  and  vine 
This  way  and  that,  in  many  a  wild  festoon' 
Kan  riot,  garlanding  the  gnarled  boughs 
With  bunch  and  berry  and  flower  thro'  and 
thro'. 

"O  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
On  the  tree-tops  a  crested  peacock  lit, 
And  o'er  him  flow'd  a  golden  cloud,  and 

lean'd 
L  pon  him,  slowly  dropping  fragrant  dew, 
1  hen  first  I  heard  the  voice  of  her,  to  whom 
Coming  thro'  Heaven,  like  a  light  that  grows 
Larger  and  clearer,  with  one  mind  the  Gods 
Kise  up  for  reverence.     She  to  Paris  made 
mffer  of  royal  power,  ample  rule 
Unquestion'd,  overflowing  revenue 
Wherewith  to  embellish  state,  '  from  many  a 
vale 

And  river-sunder'd  champaign  clothed  with 

com. 
Or  labor'd  mines  undrainable  of  ore. 
Honor,'  she  said,  '  and  homage,  tax  and  toll. 
*  rom  many  an  inland  town  and  haven  large. 
Mast-throng'd  beneath  her  shadowing  citadel 
in  glassy  bays  among  her  tallest  towers.' 

c  'I'l^  P>other  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 

btiU  she  spake  on  and  still  she  spake  ol 

power, 
'Which  in  all  action  is  the  end  of  all ; 
J.  ower  fitted  to  the  season  ;  wisdom-bred 
And  throned  of  wisdom  —  from  all  neighboi 

crowns 
Alliance  and  allegiance,  till  thy  hand 
1'  ail  from  the  sceptre-staff.     Such  boon  from 

me, 
From  me,  Heaven's  Queen,  Paris,  to  thet 

kmg-born, 
A  shepherd  all  thy  life  but  yet  king-born, 
bfiould  come  most  welcome,  seeing  men.  in 

power 
Only,  are  likest  gods,  who  have  attain'd 
Kest  in  a  happy  place  and  quiet  seats 
Above  the  thunder,  with  undying  bliss 
In  knowledge  of  their  own  supremacy.' 

"  Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
bJie  ceased,  and  Paris  held  the  costly  fruit 


■"«^ 


(ENONE. 


^ 


:i 


Out  at  arm's-length,  so  much  the  thought  of 

power 
FlatterM  his  spirit;  tut  Pallas  where  she 

stood 
Somewhat  apart,  her  clear  and  bared  limbs 

0  erthwarted  with  the  brazen-headed  spear 
Upon  her  pearly  shoulder  leaning  cold, 

1  he  Willie,  above,  her  full  and  earnest  eye 
Over  her  snow-coid  breast  and  angry  cheek 
Kept  watch,  waiting  decision,  made  reply. 

'"  Self- reverence,    self-knowledge,  self- 
control. 
These  three  alone  lead  life    to    sovereien 

power. 
Yet  iiot  for  power,  (power  of  herself 
Would  come  uncall'd  for)  but  to  live  by  law 
Actiuif  the  law  we  live  by  without  fear  •        ' 
And,  because  riglit  is  right,  to  follow  right 
Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence.' 

"  Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die 
Again  she  said  :  '  I  woo  thee  not  with  gifts 
bequel  of  guerdon  could  not  alter  me  " 

lo  fairer.     Judge  thou  me  by  what  I  am, 
bo  Shalt  thou  find  me  fairest. 

If  gazing  on  divinity  disrobed  '  '"  ^^  > 

Thy  mortal  eyes  are  frail  to  judire  of  fair 
ST'1,^^  f 'f-P-fit,  oh  ^  resfthle  sure 
That  I  shall  love  thee  well  and  cleave  to  i 
thee,  j 

So  that  my  vigor,  wedded  to  thy  blood, 
fahall  strike  within  thy  pulses,  like  a  God's,     ' 
1  o  push  thee  forward  thro'  a  life  of  shocks 
iJangers,  and  deeds,  until  endurance  grow 
binew  d  with  action,  and  the  full-grown  will. 
Circled  thro'  all  experiences,  pure  law, 
Commeasure  perfect  freedom.' 

A    J  T^    •  "  Here  she  ceased. 

And  Pans  ponder'd,  and  I  cried,  '  O  Paris, 
Give  It  to  Pallas  I '  but  he  heard  me  not, 
Ur  hearing  would  not  hear  me,  woe  is  me  ! 


And  I  beheici  great  HerA's  angry  eyes. 
As  she  withdrew  into  the  goldtn  cloud. 
And  I  was  left  alone  within  the  bower 
And  Iron,  that  time  to  tins  I  am  alone, 
And  1  shall  be  alone  until  I  die. 

''Yet,  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die 
Fairest  -  ,vhy  fairest  wife?  am  I  not  fair.> 
My  ove  hath  told  me  so  a  thousand  times 
Methinks  I  must  be  fair,  for  yesterday^        ' 
When     passed  by,  a  wild  and  wanton  pard 
Lyed   Ike  the  evening  star,  with  playful  tail 
Crouch'd  fawning  in  the  weed.    Most  lovbg 
IS  she?  *• 

\V.T'  "'^  ?^°""'3i"  slicplierd,  that  my  a:ms 
Were  wound  about  thee,  and  my  hot  ii-is  nr-st 
^'°f  ■..close  to  thine  in  that  quick-falling  -i  w 
Of  frintlul  kisses   thick  as  Autumn  rains 
Flash  111  the  pools  of  whirling  Simois. 

"  O  mother,  hear  me  yet  before  I  die 
i  hey  came,  they  cut  away  my  tallest  pines. 
My  dark  tall  oines.  that  plumed  the  craggy 

High  over  the  blue  gorge,  and  all  between 
llie  snowy  peak  and  .snow-white  cataract 
!•  oster  d  the  callow  eaglet  —  from  beneath 
Whose  thick  mysterious  bows  in  the  dark 

morn 
The  panther's  roar  car  e  muffled,  while  I  sat 
Low  in  the  valley.     K,  v,  t,  never  more 
aiiall  lone  CEnone  see  tlie  morning  mist 
bweep  lliro'  them  ;  never  i,ee  them  overlaid 
With  narrow  moonlit  slips  of  silver  cloud, 
between  the  loud  stream  and  the  trembline 
stars.  * 


0  mother  Ida,  many-fountain'd  Ida, 
Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
Idaiian  Aphrodite  beautiful. 
Fresh  as  the  foam,  new-bathed  in  Paphian 

wells,  '^ 

With  rosy  slender  fingers  backward  drew 
i  roni  her  warm  broWs  and  bosom  her  deeo 

hair  *^ 

Ambrosial,  golden  round  her  lucid  throat 
And  shoulder  :  from  the  violets  her  light  foot 
bhone  rosy-white,  and  o'er  her  rounded  form 
Ketween  the  .shadows  of  the  vine-bunches 
a  loated  the  glowing  sunlights,  as  she  moved. 

"  Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die 
She  with  a  subtle  smile  in  her  mild  ev^i 
1  he  herald  of  her  triumph,  drawing  nigh 
Half-whisper'd  in  his  ear,  '  I  promise  thee 
1  he  tairest  and  most  loving  wife  in  Greece  ' 
^^fea^  •''"''  "''"Sh'd  :  I  shut  my  sight  for 
But  when  I  look'd,  Paris  had  raised  his  ann,  I 


O  mother,  hear  me  yet  before  I  die. 
I  wish  that  somewhere  m  the  ruin'd  folds. 
Among  the  fragments  tumbled  from  the  glens. 
Or  the  dry  thickets.  I  could  meet  with  her, 
Ihe  Abominable,  that  uninvited  came 
Into  the  fair  Peleian  banquet-hall, 
And  cast  the  golden  fruit  upon  the  boafd. 
And  bred  this  change ;  that  I  might  speak 

my  mmd, 
And  tell  her  to  her  face  how  much  I  hate 
Her  presence,  hated  both  of  Gods  and  men, 

"  O  mother,  hear  me  yet  before  I  die. 
Hath  he  not  sworn  his  love  a  thousand  times 
In  this  green  valley,  under  this  green  hill, 
i-v'n  on  this  hand,  and  sitting  on  this  stone  ' 
Seal  d  It  with  kisses  ?  water'd  it  with  tears? 
O  happy  tears,  and  how  unlike  to  these  ! 
O  happy  Heaven,  how  canst  thou  see  my 

face?. 
O  happy  earth,  how  canst    thou  bear   my 
weight  ? 

0  death,  death,    death,    thou  ever-floating 

cloud. 
There  are  enough  unhappy  on  this  earth, 
l^ass  by  the  happy  souls,  that  love  to  live  : 
A  ''?y, '  ,  °'  P*^*  ^^iore,  my  light  of  life. 
And  shadow  all  my  soul,  that  I  may  die. 

1  hou  weighest  heavy  on  the  heart  within. 
Weigh  heavy  on  my  eyelids  :  let  me  die. 


J 


i  s  angry  eyes, 
:  golden  cloud, 
liii  the  bower; 
is  I  am  alone, 
il  1  die. 

rken  ere  I  die, 
B?  am  I  not  ("air? 
a  thousand  times, 
for  yesterday,  • 

i  and  wanton  pard, 
ir,  with  playful  tail 
weed.    Most  loving 

pherd,  that  mya;ms 
nd  my  hot  li'is  prsst 
at  quick-f.illiiij;  -i  ;w 
i  Autumn  rains 
rling  Simois. 

St  before  I  die, 
Y  my  tallest  pines, 
)lumed  the  craggy 

I  and  all  between 
i--\vhite  cataract 
—  from  beneath 
bows  in  the  dark 

;;uffled,  while  I  sat 
•;  never  more  - 
morning  mist 
see  them  overlaid 
5  of  silver  cloud, 
ind  the  trembling 


:  before  I  die. 
the  ruin'd  folds, 
led  from  the  glens, 
1  meet  with  her, 
ivited  came 
let-hall, 
pon  the  board, 
lat  I  might  speak 

V  much  I  hate 
f  Gods  and  men. 

before  I  die. 
a  thousand  times, 
this  green  hill, 
ig  on  this  stone  ' 
1  it  with  tears.' 
ike  to  these  ! 
ist  thou  see  my 

thou  bear   my 

ou  ever-floating 

)n  this  earth, 
it  love  to  live  : 
ight  of  life, 
t  I  may  die. 
heart  within, 
let  me  die. 


rf/£  SISTERS.— TO  

"  O  mother,  hear  me  yet  before  I  die. 
I  will  not  die  alone,  for  fiery  thoughts 
Do  shape  themselves  within  me,  more  and 

more. 
Whereof  I  catch  the  issue,  as  I  hear 
Dead  sounds  at  night  come  from  the  inmost 

hills. 
Like  footsteps  upon  wool,     I  dimly  see 
My  far-off  doubtful  purpose,  as  a  mc;her 
Conjectures  of  the  features  of  her  child 
Ere  it  is  born  ;  her  child  !  —  a  shudder  comes 
Across  me  :  never  child  be  born  of  me, 
Unblest,  to  vex  me  with  his  father's  eyes  I 

"  O  mother,  hear  me  yet  before  I  die. 

_  Hear  me,  O  earth.     I  will  not  die  alone, 

'  Lest  their  shrill  happy  laughter  come  to  me 
Walking  the  cold  and  starless  road  of  Death 
Uncomforted,  leaving  my  ancient  love 
With  the  Greelc  woman.     I  will  rise  and  go 
Down  into  Troy,  and  ere  the  stars  come  forth 
Talk  with  the  wild  Cassandra,  for  she  says 
A  fire  dances  before  her,  and  a  sound  ' 

!  Rings  ever  in  her  ears  of  armed  men. 
Wh.at  this  may  be  I  know  not,  but  I  know 

,  That,  wheresoe'er  I  am  by  nigiit  and  day, 
All  earth  and  air  seem  on»y  burning  fire. 


THE    SrSlEHS. 

;  Wk  were  two  daughters  of  one  race  : 
1  She  was  the  fairest  in  the  face  : 
i     The  wind  is  blowing  in  turret  and  tree. 
I  They  were  together,  and  she  fell  ; 

I  Therefore  revenge  became  me  well. 
O  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see  I 

.  • 

She  died  :  she  went  to  burning  flame  : 
She  mix'd  her  ancient  blood  with  shame. 
The  wmd  is  howling  in  turret  and  tree 
Whole  weeks  and  months,  and  early  and  late, 

I I  o  wm  his  love  I  lay  in  wait : 
O  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see ! 

I  made  a  feast ;  I  bade  him  come  ; 
I  won  his  love,  I  brought  him  home, 
i  he  wind  is  roaring  m  turret  and  tree. 
1  And  after  supper,  on  a  bed, 
I  Upon  my  lap  he  laid  his  head  : 
O  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see  I 

[  I  kiss'd  his  eyelids  into  rest  : 
His  ruddy  cheek  upon  my  breast. 
T  u       .''V"''  '^  raging  in  turret  and  tree. 
1  hated  him  with  the  hate  of  hell, 
iiiit  I  loved  his  beauty  passing  well, 
U  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see  !      • 

I  rose  up  in  the  silent  night : 
I  made  my  dagger  r.hDrp  and  bright. 
A.  u  ,f""  .    '^  P^'"S  in  turret  and  tree. 
As  half-asleep  his  breath  he  drew, 
Ihree  times  1  stabb'd  him  thro'  and  thro'. 
u  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see  I 

I  curl'd  and  comb'd  his  comely  head, 
ne  look  d  so  grand  when  he  was  dead. 


-  T//E   PALACE  OF  ART. 

The  wind  is  blowing  in  turret  and  tree. 
I  wrapt  his  body  in  the  sheet, 
And  laid  him  at  his  mother's  feet 

O  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see  I 


ai 


TO  . 

WITH    THE    FOLLOWING    FORM. 

I  SEND  you  here  a  sort  of  allegory, 

(For  you  will  understand  il)  of  a  soul, 

A  sinful  soul  possess'd  of  many  gifts, 

A  spacigus  garden  full  of  flowering  weeds, 

A  glorious  Devil,  large  in  heart  and  brain, 

Ihat  did  love  Beauty  onlv,  (Beauty  seen 

In  all  varieties  of  mould  and  mind,) 

And  Knowledge  for  its  beauty  ;  or  if  Good, 

Good  only  for  its  beauty,  seeing  not 

Ihat  Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge  are  three 

sisters 
That  doat  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof. 
And  never  can  besunder'd  without  tears. 
And  he  that  shuts  Love  out,  in  turn  shall  be 
.Sliut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.     Not  for  this 
Was  common  clay  ta'en  from  the  common 

earth. 
Moulded  by  God,  and  temper'd  with  the 

fears 
Of  angels  to  the  perfect  shape  of  man. 


THE  PALACE  OF  ART. 

I  ^U'LT  my  soul  a  lordly  pleasure-house, 

Wherein  at  ease  for  aye  to  dwell. 
I  said,  "O  Soul,  make  merry  and  carouse. 
Dear  soul,  for  all  is  well." 

A  huge  crag-platform,  smooth  as  burnish'd 
brass, 
I  chose.    The  ranged  ramparts  bright 
From  level  meadow-bases  of  deep  grass 
Suddenly  scaled  the  light. 

Thereon  I  built  it  firm.     Of  ledge  or  shelf 
The  rock  rose  clear,  or  winding  stair. 
My  soul  would  live  alone  unto  herself 
In  her  high  palace  there. 

And    "while   the    world   runs   round    and 
round,"  I  said, 
"  Reign  thou  apart,  a  quiet  king. 
Still  as,  while  Saturn  whirls,  his  steadfast 
shadfe 
Sleeps  on  his  luminous  ring." 

To  which  my  soul  made  answer  readily : 

"Trust  me,  in  bliss  I  shall  abide 
In  this  great  mansion,  that  is  built  for  me. 
So  royal-rich  and  wide." 


* 


ai 


Four  courts  I  made,  East,  West  and  South 

and  North, 
„,J"  "^'ic'i  a  squared  lawn,  wherefroin 
Ihe  g">den  gorge  of  dragons  spouted  forth 
A  flood  of  fountain-foam. 

And  round  the  cool  green  courts  there  ran  a 
row 
Of  cloisters,  branch'd  like  mighty  woods, 
i-clioing  all  night  to  that  sonorous  flow 
Of  spouted  fountain-floods. 

And  round  the  roofs  a  gilded  gallery 

1  hat  lent  broad  verge  to  distant  lands, 
*ar  as  the  wild  swan  wings,  to  where  the 
.,iy 

Dipt  down  to  sea  and  sands. 

From  those  four  jets  four  currents  in  one 
swell 
Across  the  mountain  stream'd  btlow 
In  misty  folds,  that  floating  as  they  fell 
Lit  up  a  torrent-bow. 

And  high  on  every  peak  a  statue  seem'd 

lo  hang  on  tip'oe,  tossing  up 
A  cloud  ot  incense  of  all  odor  steam'd 
From  out  a  golden  cup. 

So  that  she  thought,  "  And  who  shall  gaze 
upon  *" 

Mv  palace  with  unblinded'eyes. 
While  this  great  bow  will  waver  in  the  sun. 
And  that  sweet  incense  rise  ?  " 


THE  PALACE  OF  ART. 


One  seem'd  all  dark  and  red,  — a  tract  ot 
sand, 
And  some  one  pacing  there  alone, 
Who  paced  forever  in  a  glimmering  land. 
Lit  with  a  low  large  moon. 

One  show'd  an  iron  coast  and  angry  waves 
You  seem'd  to  hear  them  climb  and  f.,ll 
ca"ves'°        '*^'''**^    ""'^^   bellowing 
Beneath  the  windy  wall. 

And  one,  a  full-fed  river  winding  slow 

By  herds  upon  an  endless  plain, 
Ihe  Mgged  rims  of  thunder  brooding  low, 
With  shadow-streaks  of  rain. 

And  one,  the  reapers  at  their  sultry  toil, 

in  front  they  bound  the  sheaves.     Behind 
Were  rea  ms  of  upland,  prodigal  in  oil, 
And  hoary  to  the  wind. 

And  one,  a  foreground  black  with  stones  and 
slags. 
Beyond,  a  line  of  heights,  and  higher 
All  barr'd  with  long  white  cloud  the  scornful 


\  j^'  l^,^*'  mcense  rose  and  never  fail'd. 
And,  while  day  sank  or  mounted  higher. 
The  light  aerial  gallery,  golden-rail'd, 
iiumt  like  a  fringe  of  fire. 

Likewise  the  deep-set  windows,  stain'd  and 
traced, 

F,rl?"l''  seem  slow-flaming  crimson  fires 
I'roni  shadow'd  grots  of  arches  interlaced. 
And  tipt  with  frost-like  spires. 


crags. 
And  highest,  snow  and  fire. 

^"'^  °"ouf'd  ^"*'"*''  home, -gray  twilight 

On  dewy  pastures,  dewy  trees, 
Softei  than  sleep,  -all  things  in  order  stored. 
A  haunt  of  ancient  Peace. 


Nor  these  alone,  but  every  landscape  fair. 

As  fit  for  every  mood  of  mind, 
Or  g^,  or  grave,  or  sweet,  or  stem,  was  there, 
Not  less  than  truth  design 'd 


Full  of  long-sounding  corridors  it  was, 

Ihat  over-vaulted  grateful  gloom, 
Ihro    which  the  livelong  day  my  soul  did 

pBSSf 

Well-pleased,  from  room  to  room. 

Full  of  great  rooms  and  small  the  palace 
stood. 
All  various,  each  a  perfect  whole 
Froni  living  Nature,  fit  for  every  mood 
And  change  of  my  still  soul. 

For  some  were  hung  with  awas  green  and 
blue, 
Showing  a  gaudy  summer-mom. 

bkw  "^^^^  ''"*  ^^'*^''  '''"'*" 

His  wreathed  bugle-hom. 


Or  the  maid-mother  by  a  crucifix. 

In  tracts  of  pasture  sunny-warm. 
Beneath  branch-work  of  costly  sardonyx 
bat  smiling,  babe  in  arm. 

Or  in  a  clear-wall'd  city  on  the  sea, 
Near  gilded  organ-pipes,  her  hair 
Wound  with  white  roses,  slept  St.  Cecily 
An  angel  looked  at  her. 

Or  thronging  all  one  porch  of  Paradise, 

A  group  of  Houris  bow'd  to  see 
The  dvmg  Islamite,  with  hands  and  eyes 
That  said,  We  wait  for  thee. 

Or  mythic  Uther's  deeply-wounded  son 
In  some  fair  space  of  sloping  greens 
Lay,  dozing  in  the  vale  of  Avalon, 
And  watch'd  hy  weeping  queens. 

Or  hollowing  one  hand  against  his  ear. 

To  list  a  footfall,  ere  he  saw 
Ihe  wood-nymph,  stay'd  the  Ausonian  kine 
to  hear  * 

Of  wisdom  and  of  law. 


■* 

1 

Oro 
The 

n 

i 

Orsv 
Fr 

* 

Fron 

m 

1 

1 

Orel 

Hj 

Sole 

1 

Nor 
Wl 
Carv( 

I 

d  red,  — a  tract  crt 

there  alone, 
[limmering  land, 
moon. 

:  and  angry  wave*. 
!m  climb  and  fall 
i    under   bellowing 

all. 

winding  slow 
!ss  plain, 
ier  brooding  low, 
of  rain. 

heir  sultry  toil, 
;  sheaves.     Behind 
rodigal  in  oil, 

ck  with  stones  and 

ts,  and  higher 
cloud  the  scornful 

d  fire. 

le,  —  gray  twilight 

trees, 

igs  in  order  stored, 
ace. 

landscape  fair, 
mitid, 

ir  stem,  was  there, 
iign'd 

*  • 

*  • 

rucifix, 
y-warm, 
5tly  sardonyx 


the  sea, 
her  hair 
iptSt.  Cecily; 


)f  Paradise, 
to  see 

nds  and  eyes 
thee. 

junded  son 
ng  greens 
t'alon, 
;  queeas. 

st  his  ear, 

IV 

i  Ausonian  king 


T/fF  PALACE  OF  A  XT. 


Or  over  hills  with  peaky  tops  engrail'd, 

.And  many  a  tract  of  iialm  and  rice. 
The  throne  of  Indian  Cama  slowly  sail'd 
A  summer  fann'd  with  spice. 

Or  sweet  Europa's  mantle  blew  unclasp'd, 
From  off  her  shoulder  backward  borne  : 
From  one  hand  droop'd  a  crocus :  one  hand 
grasp'd 
The  mild  bull's  golden  horn. 

Or  else  flushed  Ganymede,  his  rosy  thigh 

Half-buried  in  the  Eagle's  down, 
Sole  as  a  flying  star  shot  thro'  the  sky 
Above  the  pillar'd  town. 

Nor  these  alone  :  but  everj'  legend  fair 
Which  the  supreme  Caucasian  mind 
Carved  out  of  Nature  for  itself,  was  there, 
Not  less  than  life,  design'd. 


Then  in  the  towers  I  placed  great  bells  that 
swung. 
Moved  of  themselves,  with  silver  sound ; 
And  with  choice  paintings  of  wise  men  I 
hung 
The  royal  dais  round. 

For  there  was  Milton  like  a  seraph  strong. 
Beside  him  Shakespeare  bland  and  mild  ; 
And  there  the  world-worn  Dante  grasp'd  his 
song. 
And  somewhat  grimly  smiled. 

And  there  the  Ionian  father  of  the  rest  ; 

A  million  vvrinkles  carved  his  skin  ; 
A  hundred  winters  snow'd  upon  his  breast, 
From  cheek  and  throat  and  chin. 

Above,  the  fair  hall-ceiling  stately-set 

Many  an  arch  high  up  did  lift, 
And  angels  rising  and  tlescending  met 
With  interchange  of  gift. 

Below  was  all  mosaic  choicely  plann'd 

With  cycles  of  the  human  tale 
Of  this  wide  world,  the  times  of  every  land 
So  wrought,  they  will  not  fail. 

'^^  P,^°P'e  here,  a  beast  of  burden  slow. 
Toil  d   onward,   prick'd  with   goads  and 
stings ; 
Here  plav'd,  a  tiger,  rolling  to  and  fro 
i  he  heads  and  crowns  of  kings ; 

^fn  l°"  *"  athlete,  strong  to  break  or  bind 

All  force  m  bonds  that  might  endure. 
And  here  once  more  like  some  sick  man  de- 
tiiu'd. 
And  trusted  any  cure. 

But  over  these  she  trod :  and  those  great  bells 

Began  to  chime.    She  took  her  throne : 
bhe  sat  betwixt  the  shining  Oriels, 
To  sing  her  songs  alone. 


And  thro'  the  topmost  Oriels'  color'd  flame 

Two  godlike  faces  gazed  below  ; 
Plato  tiie  wise,  and  large-brow'd  Vcrulam, 
The  first  of  those  who  know. 

And  all  those  names,  that  in  their  motion  were 

Full-welling  fountain-heads  of  change, 
Betwixt  the  slender  shafts  were  blazon'd  fair 
In  diverse  raiment  strange  : 

Thro'  which  the  lights,  rose,  amber,  emerald, 
blue, 
Flush'd  in  her  temples  and  her  eyes. 
And  from  her  lips,  as  morn  from  Memnon, 
drew 
Rivers  of  melodies. 

No  nightingale  delighteth  to  prolong 

Her  low  preamble  all  alone. 
More  than  my  soul  to  hear  her  echo'd  song 
Throb  thro*  the  ribbed  stone ; 

Singing  and  murmuring  in  her  feastful  mirth, 

Joying  to  feel  herseltalive. 
Lord  over  Nature,  Lord  of  the  visible  earth. 
Lord  of  the  senses  five ; 

Communing  with  herself:  "AU  these  are 
mine, 
And  let  the  world  have  peace  or  wars, 
'T  is  one  to  me."    She  — when  young  night 
divine 
Crown'd  dying  day  with  stars, 

Making  sweet  close  of  his  delicious  toils- 
Lit  light  in  wreaths  and  anadems, 
And  pure  quintessences  of  precious  oils     " 
In  hollow'd  moons  of  gems. 

To  mimic  heaven ;  and  clapt  her  hands  and 
cried, 
"I  marvel  if  my  still  delight 
In  this  great  house  so  royal-rich,  and  wide. 
Be  flatter'd  to  the  height 

"  O  all  things  fair  to  sate  my  various  eyes  I 

0  shapes  and  hues  that  please  me  well  1 
O  silent  faces  of  the  Great  and  Wise, 

My  Gods,  with  whom  I  dwell ! 

"  O  God-like  isolation  which  art  mine, 

1  can  but  count  thee  perfect  gain. 

What  time  I  watch  the  darkening  droves  of 
swine 
That  range  on  yonder  plain. 

"  Ij?, '^''''y  sloughs  they  roll  a  prurient  skin, 
They  graze  and  wallow.breed  and  sleep; 
And  oft  some  brainless  devil  enters  in, 
And  drives  them  to  the  deep." 

Then  of  the  moral  instinct  would  she  prate. 

And  of  the  rising  from  the  dead, 
As  hers  by  right  of  full-accomplish'd  Fate; 
And  at  the  last  she  said : 

"  I  take  possession  of  man's  mind  and  deed 
I  care  not  what  the  sects  may  brawl. 


/ 


24 


LADV  CLARA    VERE  DE    VERS. 


I  sit  as  God  holding  no  form  of  creed, 
But  contemplating  all." 


* 


* 

* 


Full  oft  the  riddle  of  the  painful  earth 

Flash'd  thro'  her  as  she  sat  alone, 
Yet  not  the  less  held  she  her  solemn  mirth, 
And  intellectual  throne. 

And  so  she  throve  and  prosper'd :  so  three 
years 
She  prosper'd :  on  the  fourth  she  fell, 
Like  Herod,  when  the  shout  was  in  his  ears. 
Struck  thro'  with  pangs  of  hell. 

Lest  she  should  fail  and  perish  utterly, 

God,  before  whom  ever  lie  bare 
The  abysmal  deeps  of  Personality, 
Plagued  her  with  sore  despair. 

When  she  would  think,  where'er  she  turn'd 
her  sight. 
The  airy  hand  confusion  wrought, 
Wrote  "  Mene,  mene,"  and  divided  quite 
The  kingdom  of  her  thought. 

Deep  dread  and  loathing  of  her  solitude 

Fell  on  her,  from  which  mood  was  born 
Scorn  of  herself ;  again,  from  out  that  mood 
Laughter  at  her  self-scorn. 

"What!  is  not  this  my  place  of  strength," 
she  said, 
"  My  spacious  mansion  built  for  me, 
Wliereof  tlie  strong  foundation-stones  were 
laid 
Since  my  first  memory  ? " 

But  in  dark  corners  of  her  palace  stood 

Uncertain  shapes  ;  and  unawares 
Oil  white-eyed  phantasms  weeping  tears  of 
blood. 
And  horrible  nightmares, 

And  hollow  shades  enclosing  hearts  of  flame. 

And,  with  dim  fretted  foreheads  all, 
On  corpses  three-months  old  at  noon  she 
came. 
That  stood  against  the  wall. 

A  spot  of  dull  stagnation,  without  light 

Or  power  of  movement,  seem'd  my  soul, 
'Mid  onward-sloping  motions  infinite 
Making  for  one  sure  goal. 

A  still  salt  pool,  lock'd  in  with  bars  of  sand ; 

Left  on  the  shore  ;  that  hears  all  night 
The  plunging  seas  draw  backward  from  the 
l.-ind 
Their  moon-led  waters  white. 

A  star  that  with  the  choral  starry  dance 

Join'd  not,  but  stood,  and  standing  saw 
The  hollow  orb  of  moving  Circumstance 
RoU'd  round  by  one  fix'd  law. 


Back  on  herself  her  serpent  pride  had  curl'd. 
•    "No  voice, "  she  rhriek'd  in  that  lone  hall, 
"  No  voice  breaks  thro'  the  stillness  of  tltls 
world : 
One  deep,  deep  silence  all  1 " 

She,  moulderine  with  the  dull  earth's  mould- 
ering sod, 
Inwrapt  tenfold  in  slothful  shame, 
Lay  there  exiled  from  eternal  God, 
Lost  to  her  place  and  name ; 

And  death  and  life  she  hated  equally, 

And  nothing  saw,  for  her  despair. 
But  dreadful  time,  dreadful  eternity, 
No  comfort  anywhere ; 

Remaining  utterly  confused  with  fears, 

And  ever  worse  with  growing  time. 
And  ever  unrelieved  by  dismal  tears, 

And  all  alone  in  crime :  , 

Shut  up  as  in  a  crumbling  tomb,  girt  round 

With  blackness  as  a  solid  wall, 
Far  off  she  seem'd  to  hear  the  dully  sound 
Of  human  footsteps  fall. 

As  in  strange  lands  a  traveller  walking  slow, 

In  doubt  and  great  perplexity, 
A  little  before  moon-rise  hears  the  low 
Moan  of  an  unknown  sea ; 

And  knows  not  if  it  be  thunder  or  a  sound 
Of  rocks  thrown  down,  or  one  deep  cry 
Of  great  wild  beasts ;  then  thinketh,  ''  I  have 
found 
A  new  land,  but  I  die." 

She  howl'd  aloud,  "  I  am  on  fire  within. 

There  comes  no  murmur  of  reply. 

What  is  it  that  will  take  away  my  sin. 

And  save  me  lest  I  die?" 

So  when  four  years  were  wholly  finished, 

She  threw  her  royal  robes  away, 
"  Make  me  a  cottage  in  the  vale,"  she  said, 
"  Where  I  may  mourn  and  pray. 

"  Yet  pull  not  down  my  palace  towers,  that  are 

So  lightly,  beautifully  built : 
Perchance  I  may  return  with  others  there 

When  I  have  purged  my  guilt."  • 


LADY  CLARA  VERE  DE  VERE. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Of  me  you  shall  not  win  renown : 
You  thought  to  break  a  country  heart 

For  pastime,  ere  you  went  to  town. 
At  ine  you  smlJed,  but  unbeguiled 

I  saw  the  snare,  and  I  retired  : 
The  daughter  of  a  hundred  Earls,     • 

You  are  not  one  to  be  desired. 


Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 
I  know  you  proud  to  bear  your 


nt  pride  had  curl'd. 
'd  in  that  lone  hall, 
;he  stillness  of  tMs 

e  all  1 " 

dull  earth's  mould- 


holly  finished, 
IS  away, 

e  vale,"  she  said, 
rn  and  pray. 

ce  towers,  that  are 

lilt: 

th  others  there 

1  ray  guilt."  < 


DE  VERE. 


"  The  daughter  of  a  hundred  Earls, 
You  are  not  one  to  be  desired." 


N 


Y( 
Tl 


N( 


Oil 


La 

\ 

Sh( 

c 

Inc 

1 

He 


THE  MAY  QUEEN. 


Your  pride  is  yet  no  mate  for  mine. 
Too  proud  to  care  from  whence  I  came. 

Nor  would  I  break  for  your  sweet  sake 
A  heart  that  doats  on  truer  charms. 

A  simple  maiden  in  her  flower 
Is  worth  a  hundred  coats-of-arms. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

Some  meeker  pupil  you  must  find, 
For  were  you  queen  of  all  that  is, 

I  could  not  stoop  to  such  a  mind. 
You  sought  to  prove  how  I  could  love, 

And  my  disdain  is  my  reply. 
The  lion  on  your  old  stone  gates 

Is  not  more  cold  to  you  than  I. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

You  put  strange  memories  in  my  head. 
Not  thrice  your  branching  limes  have 
blown 

Since  I  beheld  young  Laurence  dead. 
Oh  your  sweet  eyes,  your  low  replies  : 

A  great  enchantress  you  may  be  ; 
But  tliere  was  that  across  his  throat 

Which  you  had  hardly  cared  to  see. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere. 

when  thus  he  met  his  mother's  view, 
She  had  the  passions  of  her  kind, 

She  spake  some  certain  truths  of  you. 
Indeed  I  heard  one  bitter  word 

That  scarce  is  fit  for  you  to  hear ; 
Her  manners  had  not  that  repose 

Which  stamps  the  caste  of  Vere  de 
Vere. 


as 


Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

There  stands  a  spectre  in  your  hall : 
The  guilt  of  blood  is  at  your  door  : 

You  changed  a  wholesome  heait  to  gall. 
You  held  your  course  without  remorse, 

To  make  him  trust  his  modest  worth, 
And,  last,  you  fix'd  a  vacant  stare, 

And  slew  him  with  your  noble  birth. 

Trust  me,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

From  yon  blue  heavens  above  us  bent 
The  grand  old  gardener  and  his  wife 

Smile  at  the  claims  of  long  descent. 
Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'T  is  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets. 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 

I  know  you,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere  : 

You  pine  among  your  halls  and  towers : 
The  languid  light  of  your  proud  eyes 

Is  wearied  of  the  rolling  hours. 
In  glowing  health,  with  boundless  wealth. 

But  sickening  of  a  vague  disease. 
You  know  so  ill  to  deal  with  time. 

You  needs  mustplaysuch  pranks  as  thes» 

Clara,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

If  Time  be  heavy  on  your  hands, 
Are  there  no  beggars  at  your  gate. 

Nor  any  poor  about  your  lands? 
Oh  I  teach  the  orphan-boy  to  read. 

Or  teach  the  orphan-girl  to  sew. 
Pray  Heaven  for  a  human  heart, 

And  let  the  foolish  yeoman  go. 


THE  MAY  QUEEN. 

You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me  early,  mother  dear; 
To-morrow  ill  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the  glad  New-year ; 
Of  all  the  glad  New-year,  mother,  the  maddest  merriest  day; 
*or  1  m  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queeii  o'  the  May. 

Th!«  •!  M^"^  ^  ^.'^*^  J  k'/^'*  ^y.^'  ""^y  s^y-  >*"*  "°n«  s°  bright  as  mine ; 

There  s  Margaret  and  Mary,  there 's  Kate  and  Caroline  : 

But  none  so  fair  as  little  Alice  in  all  the  land  they  say. 

So  I  m  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

I  sleep  so  sound  all  night,  mother,  that  I  shall  never  wake, 

II  you  do  not  call  me  loud  when  the  day  begins  to  break : 

But  1  must  gather  knots  of  flowers,  and  buds  and  garlands  gay, 

*or  I  m  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

As  I  came  up  the  valley  whom  think  ye  should  I  see. 

But  Robin  leaning  on  the  bridge  beneath  the  hazel-tree  ? 

lie  thought  of  that  sharp  look,  mother,  I  gave  him  yesterday,— 

But  1  m  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o*  the  May. 

He  thought  I  was  a  ghost,  mother,  for  I  was  all  in  white, 

And  I  ran  by  him  without  speaking,  like  a  flash  of  light. 

X  hey  call  me  cruel-hearted.  But  I  care  not  what  they  say, 

for  I  m  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

They  say  he  's  dying  all  for  love,  but  that  can  never  be : 
iney  say  his  heart  is  breaking,  mother  — what  is  that  to  mi? 


a6 


NEW-YEAR'S  EVE. 


■      :i 


1 1 


I  i 


^^'^'^L^^£;^f;^\^s;z£rr^«^^, 


jueen  o'  the  May, 

All  the  valley,  mother,  'ill  be  fresh  and  ereen  and  ^ill 
And  the  cowsl.p  and  the  crowfoot  are  ofer  aU  the  hi 

NEW-YEAR'S  EVE. 

'vJT  '""^  J^*'"'"^!  *=^"  ""^  ^■'"■Jy-  call  me  early,  mother  dear 
fff  LT."''^  l^r^  "'^  ^""  "se  upon  the  glad  New  year         ' 
It  IS  the  last  New-year  that  I  shall  evef  see,         ^ 
Ihenyou  may  lay  me  low  i'  the  mould  and  Ihink  no  more  of  me. 

Th™^^  "^  '''^  ^i"*  ^''^  '■  ^^^  "t  and  left  bohind 
ISd  \hi-^lt  ^'^'■'  >^^  ^^^'  ^'"^  "■'"«^'  -'"d  all  iny  peace  of  mind  ■ 
'rh»  Ki    ^'^'^■year  's  coming  up,  mother,  but  I  shall  never  ^ee  ' 
The  blossom  on  the  blackthorn,  the  leaf  upon  the  tree. 

nf^ii^^Tu'^^u'^H*  ^  '^'■°^  of  flowers :  we  had  a  merrv  dav  • 
And  we  dnn.^.r'^'^  °."  '^^  S"-^^"  t'>«y  -"^de  me  Seen^f  May  • 
TUl  Char1«-?w  •  °"'  ^^^  "lay-p^l^  »"d  in  the  hazd  copse/       ^  * 
lill  Charles  s  Warn  came  out  a&ove  the  tall  white  chimney-tops. 

?o^%'wirhlo'ten°,L'"  '''"i'J"^  ''  '^^  ^'°''  '^"^  tJ^epane: 
1  uniy  wian  to  live  till  the  snowdrops  come  aeain  • 

I  Inn.  »*.^^  '"°^  ^""^'^  "'«"  »"d  the  sun  co^  out  on  high  • 
I  long  to  see  a  flower  so  before  the  day  I  die  ^   * 

Upon  the  chancel-casement,  and  upon  that  grave  of  mine 
R  Jnv!  T^^  T^^  r'°'""'"S  'he  summer  sun  ^Ihine         ' 
Before  the  red  cock  crows  from  the  farm  upon  the  hfl'l 
When  you  are  warm-asleep,  mother,  and  ^l"he  woJld  is  still. 

You'M/l;L^e'r^^"^r„^^fli-"lH'"f ''•  ''«"^»*h  the  waning  light 

Z^Z^T""''''^  daT^oidlhi  suSLt'^^l^ol'^o^!:^ ' 

On  the  oat-gras9  and  the  sword-grass,  and  the  bulrush  hi  the  pool. 

And  vn!!"!?.™^'  "^  '"°?''*"''  J"^*  beneath  the  hawthorn  shade 
And  you  II  come  somebraes  and  see  me  where  I  am  lowly  laid 


CONCLUSION. 

I  shall  not  forget  you,  mother  I  shall  jjear  you  when  you  pass, 
With  your  feet  above  my  head  in  the  long  and  pleasant  grasS. 

I  have  been  wild  and  wayward,  but  you  '11  forgive  me  now ; 
You  II  kiss  me,  my  own  mother,  and  forgive  me  ere  I  go  : 
Nay,  nay,  you  must  not  weep,  nor  let  your  grief  be  wild, 
You  should  not  fret  for  me,  mother,  you  have  another  child. 

If  I  can  I  '11  come  again,  mother,  from  out  my  resting-place  ; 
Tho  you  II  not  see  me,  mother,  I  shall  look  upon  your  face : 
1  ho  I  cannot  speak  a  word,  I  shall  hearken  what  you  say. 
And  be  often,  olten  with  you  when  you  think  I  'm  far  away. 

Good-night,  good-night,  when  I  have  said  good-night  forevermore. 
And  you  see  me  carried  out  from  the  threshold  of  the  door : 

oi,°"i.'  u  '    u  *  '=°'",^. ,'?  ^^^  ""^  'i'l  my  grave  be  growing  green  ; 
bhe  11  be  a  better  child  to  you  than  ever  I  have  been. 

She  '11  find  my  garden-tools  upon  the  granary  floor  ; 
Let  her  take  'em  :  they  are  hers :  I  shall  never  garden  more : 
«ut  tell  her,  when  I  'm  gone,  to  train  the  rose-bush  that  I  set 
About  the  parlor- window  and  the  box  of  mignonette. 

Good-night,  sweet  mother ;  call  me  before  the  day  is  born, 
AH  night  I  he  awake,  but  1  fall  asleep  at  morn  ; 
^ut  1  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the  glad  New- year, 
oo,  If  you  re  wakmg,  call  me,  call  me  early,  mother  dear. 


27 


CONCLUSION. 

I  THOUGHT  to  pass  away  before,  and  yet  alive  I  am  ; 
And  in  the  fields  all  lound  I  hear  the  bleating  of  the  lamb, 
now  sadly,  I  remember,  rose  the  morning  of  the  year  I 
io  die  before  the  snowdrop  came,  and  now  the  violet  *s  het«. 

O  sweet  is  the  new  violet,  that  comes  beneath  the  skies. 
And  sweeter  ic  the  young  lamb's  voice  to  me  thauSt  rise 
And  sweet  is  til  the  land  about,  and  all  the  flowers  hat  bow 
And  sweeter  far  is  death  than  life  to  me  that  long  to  go  ' 

An'rf  nnw -f  ^^'^  ^*  first  mother,  to  leave  the  blessed  sun. 
But  ,^,7i',K-T'.*'  ^f'tH  ^'^y-  ="^yet  His  will  be  done  I 
Zn^  /i  V  *'"V''  ■'  ^K^  ^^  '°"S  ''efo'-e  i  find  release  ; 
And  that  good  man,  the  clergyman,  has  told  me  word^  of  peace. 

AnH  w"'"^^  ""  liis  kindly  voice  ard  on  his  silver  hair  I 
And  blessings  on  his  whole  i  fe  Ic         ntil  he  meet  me  th<.rp  I 
A  thousTId  h"  ^-S'^'^dly  heart  and  on"his  sflv"' he'd  l'^"'  ' 
A  thousand  times  I  blest  him,  as  he  knelt  beside  my  bed. 

Now^  tin'  "Z,  f  ^^^  ""Tl'  ^^'^  ^^""^'^  »"«  all  the  sin. 
Nor  woumTUJ?'^'"^",  '^•''"t'^*^'  **>."«  '"  0««  *i»  Jet  me  in; 
For  m^^    •     °^u^^  '^^"'  motlier,  again,  if  that  could  be. 
For  my  desi.-e  is  but  to  pass  to  Him  that  died  for  me. 

Thil"ri^!"  "'^  ^°^  ^°:^^'  "'^*''"'  ""^  'he  death-watch  beat, 
Buf^t  h«!.    ^"^T^I  *°K"  *he"  '*>«  "'ght  and  morning  meet ; 
And  Ffflf  "'^{?y  ^i^'  ""^J^^''  a"*'  P"'  y°"'  hand  in  mine. 
And  Effie  on  the  other  side,  and  I  will  tell  the  sign. 

All  in  ihc  wild  Maich-mornli.g  I  heard  the  angels  call : 
It  was  when  the  moon  was  setting,  and  the  dark  was  over  all ; 
aV,a  ^^^I  ^^^f^i?  whisper,  and  the  wind  began  to  roll. 
And  m  the  wild  March-morning  I  heard  them  call  my  soul. 

For  lying  broad  awake  I  thought  of  you  and  Effie  dear  ' 
1  saw  you  sitting  in  the  house,  and  I  no  longer  here ;     ' 


a8 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS. 

2,"''°7l«h'nkmytimeisnear.     I  tnist  it  i-i      t  i. 
But,  Effie,  you  must  comfort  /5*^  when  I  am  pa^st  away 

Therf-^  many°SnlSlhT„1'  '"^!f"  '"'"  "°* '"  ''ret; 
\i  1  had  live/- 1  cSt, ell -7°^^  *>>  happy' yet. 

And  there  I  move  no  lona^VX,       ^"^.a','  of  them  I  know. 

Wild  flowers  in^bV°X'?o?oXr^Knt?hir^e'  '"^^  ^'""^- 

For  ever  and  for  ever  with  ,r^'  ^^^  be  beyond  the  sun- 
And  what  is  life  ?hlt  we^hn  m  ^"''  «?"'iand  true  - 

me,  tnat  we  should  moan  ?  why  make  we  such  ado  ? 

And^her.^'Jn  ^""l-V^'.'  ^"  '".3  b'"sed  honie- 

To"  li  'w  hi°n  riUfif  S*^  l"'/r  '•"'^  ^"^^  -•"«  - 

AndthewickercSi^SulliJi:^^^^^^^^^ 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS. 

"^^"the°fand  ^^  "''^'  ^"^  P"'"*'*^  *°^^'d 
"^''wa"dToo^"^^''"'"-"'^^«hore- 

\t  !!'if\^'?"'°°"  '^y  <=3me  unto  a  land. 
A^17n."^'i''"""^  ?'*«y«  afternoon     ' 
Rr«?K'      *rf  ''°'''  "*  '^"E"'d  air  did  swoon 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ^ 
And  like  a  downward  smoke,   the  sS^ 
stream  ^uucr 

'^'""^seem'"'''^  *°  ^^"  ^""^  P^"**"  ^^^  *■»"  ^^'^ 

^  ^^"  sm^oke*'*'^"'^ '  '°"*'  ''"''^  ^  downward 

aX^''°PPJ."V*''''  of  thinnest  Jawn,  did  to  • 
And  som^e^thro-  wave.ing  lights  and  shadfws 

Rolling  a  slumbrous  sheet  of  foam  below 

From  thr-*''"  «  "!?'"f  "^"  seawa?d  flow 
From  the  inner  land :  far  off,  three  mountain- 
Three  silent  pinnacles  of  aged  snow 
Stood  sunset-flush'd  :  and.lew'd  wTjhshow- 

ery  drops, 
Up-clornb  the  shadowy  pine  above  the  woven 

vOpSB. 


Tr!'^if''^'''5'4'""'^*;""S«''d  low adown 

dife  "  ''"■°' """""'ain  clefts  the 

Sh^^m"  'Hr  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

vale'"      ^^     '  ""^"^  *  winding 

And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galineale  • 
A  land  where  all  things  always  seem'd  the 

same! 
And  round  about  the  keel  with  faces  pale. 
Dark  faces  pale  agamst  'hat  rosy  flame, 
Ihe     mild-eyed    melancholy    Lotos-eaters 
came. 

Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem, 
leaden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  th^v 


To  each,  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them. 

*  ar  Jar  away  did  seem  to  mourn  and  rave 
Un  alien  shores  ;  and  if  his  fellow  spake. 
His  voice  was  thm,  as  voices  from  tlie  grave: 
And  deep-asleep  he  seem'd,  yet  all  awake 
And  music  mhrs  ears  his  beating  heart  did 

They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand 
Bttween  the  sun  and  t^on  upon  the  shore- 
And  sweet  it  was  to  dream  of  Fatherland    ' 
Of  child,  and  wife,  and  slave ;  but  eJcmore 


THE  LOTOS-EATERS. 


Most  weary  seem'd  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam 
Then  some  one  said,  "  We  will  return  no 

more  "  ; 
And    all   at  once  they  sang,  "Our  island 

home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave ;  we  will  no  longer 

roam." 

CHORIC    SONG.  • 

I. 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass. 
Or  !iight-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 
Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass  ; 
Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 
Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes  : 
Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the 

blissful  skies. 
Here  are  cool  mosses  deep, 
And  thro'  the  moss  the  ivies  creep. 
And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers 

weep, 
And  from  the  craggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs 

in  sleep. 

2. 

Why  are  we  weigh'd  upon  with  heaviness, 

And  utterly  consumed  with  sharp  distress, 

While  all  things  else  have  rest  from  weari- 
ness? 

All  things  have  rest:  why  should  we  toil 
alone. 

We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things, 

And  make  perpetual  moan, 

Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown  : 

Nor  ever  fold  our  wings, 

And  cease  from  wanderings, 

Nor  steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm  • 

Nor  hearken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 
1  here  IS  no  joy  but  calm  !  " 

Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown 
of  things } 


a9 


Let  us  alone.    Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  m  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  > 
All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past 
Let  us  alone.     What  pleasure  can  we  haws 
1  o  war  with  evil  .>    Is  there  any  peace 
J  n  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 
All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the 

grave 
In  silence  ;  ripen,  fall  and  cease  : 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or 

dreamful  ease. 


Lo  I  in  the  middle  of  the  wood, 
fir- u'^**^  leaf  is  woo'd  frr  m  out  the  bud 
With  winds  upon  the  branch,  and  there 
Grows  green  and  broad,  and  takes  no  care, 
$".""Sl«ep  a  at  noon,  and  in  the  moon 
Rightly  dew-fed  ;  and  turning  yellow 
i'alls,  and  floats  adown  the  air. 
\Z  '  /^^;*eten'd  with  the  summer  light, 
Ihe  fuIl-juiced  apple,  waxing  ovei-mellow, 
iJrops  111  a  silent  autumn  night. 
All  Its  allotted  length  of  days, 
1  he  flower  rioens  in  its  place. 
Ripens  and  fades,  and  falls,  and  hath  no  toil, 
*  ast-rooted  in  the  fruitful  soil. 


Hateful  IS  the  dark-blue  sky. 
Vaulted  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea. 
Death  is  the  end  of  life  ;  ah,  why 
Should  life  all  labor  be  ? 


How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward 

stream. 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem  -^ 
I- ailing  asleep  in  a  lialf-dream  ' 
To   dream   and  dream,  like   yonder  amber 

light. 
Which  will  not  leave  the  myrrh-bush  on  the 

height ; 
To  hear  each  other's  whisper'd  speech  • 
Eating  the  Lotos  day  by  day. 
To  watch  the  crisping  ripples  on  the  beach, 
And  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray  ; 
1  o  lend  our  hearts  and  spirits  wholly 
To  the  influence  of  mild-minded  melancholy 
lo  muse  and  brood  and  live  again  in  memory. 
With  those  old  faces  of  our  infancy 
Heap'd  over  with  a  mound  of  grass, 
Two  handfuls  of  white  dust,  shut  in  an  urn 
of  brass  I 

6. 

Dear  is  the  memory  of  our  wedded  lives, 
And  dear  the  last  embraces  of  our  wives 

And  their  warm  tears  :  but  all  hath  suffer'd 
change  ; 

For  surely  now  our  household  hearths  are 
cold  : 

Our  sons  inherit  us  :  our  looks  are  strange  : 

And  we  should  come  like  ghosts  to  trouble 
joy. 

Or  else  the  island  princes  over-bold 

Have  eat  our  substance,  and  the  minstrel 
sings 

Before  them  of  the  ten-years'  war  in  Troy, 

And  oyr  great  deeds,  as  half  forgotten  things. 

Is  there  confusion  lu  the  little  isle  ? 

Let  what  is  broken  so  remain. 

The  Gods  are  hard  to  reconcile : 
T  is  hard  to  settle  order  once  again. 

There  is  confusion  wors»  than  death, 

Trouble  on  trouble,  pain  on  pain, 

Long  labor  unto  aged  breaJh, 

Sore  task  to  hearts  worn  out  with  many  wars 

And  eyes  grown  dim  with  gazing  on  the  pilot- 
stars. 


But,  propt  on  beds  of  amaranth  and  moly, 
How  sweet  (while  warm  airs  lull  us,  blowing 

lowly) 
With  half-dropt  eyelids  still, 
Beneath  a  heaven  dark  and  holy, 


Hi 


i  \ 


To  watch  the  long  bright  river  drawing  slowly 

His  waters  from  the  purple  hill  — 

To  hear  the  dewy  echoes  calling 

From  cave  to  cave  thro'  the  thick-twined 
vine  — 

To  watch  the  emerald-color'd  water  falling 

'J'hro'  many  a  wov'n  acanthus-wreath  divine  ! 

Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling 
brine, 

Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  strelch'd  out  be- 
neath the  pine. 

8. 
The  Lotos  blooms  below  the  barren  peak  : 
The  Lotos  blows  by  every  winding  creek : 
All  day  the  wind  breathes  low  with  mellower 

tone  : 
Thro'  every  hollow  cave  and  alley  lone 
Round  and  round  the  spicy  downs  the  yellow 

Lotos-dust  is  blown. 
We  have  had  enough  of  action,  and  of  motion 

we, 
Roll'd  to  starboard,  roll'd  to  larboard,  when 

the  surge  was  seething  free, 
Where  the  wallovying  monster  spouted  his 

foam-fountains  in  the  sea. 
Let  us  swear  an  oath,  and  keep  it  with  an 

equal  mind, 
In  the  hollow  Lotos-land  to  live  and  lie  re- 
clined 
On  the  hills  like  Gods  together,  careless  of 

mankind. 
For  they  lie  beside  their  nectar,  and  the  bolts 

are  hurl'd 
Far  below  them  in  the  valleys,  and  the  clouds 

are  lightly  curl'd 
Round  their  golden  houses,  c;irdled  v^th  the 

gleaming  world : 
Where  they  smile  in  secret,   looking  over 

wasted  lands, 
Blight  and  famine,  plague  and  earthquake, 

roaring  deeps  and  fiery  sands, 
Clanging   fights,   and    flaming   towns,    and 

sinking  ships,  and  praying  hands. 
But  they  smile,  they  find  a  music  centred  in 

a  doleful  song 
Steaming  up,  a  lamentation  and  an  ancient 

tale  of  wrong, 
Like  a  tale  of  little  meaning  tho'  the  words 

are  strong ; 
Chanted  from  an  ill-used  race  of  men  that 

cleave  the  soil, 
Sow  the  seed,  and  reap  the  harvest  with 

enduring  toil. 
Storing  yearly  little  dues  of  wheat,  and  wine 

and  oil ; 
Till  they  perish  and  they  suffer  —  some,  't  is 

whispered  —  down  in  hell 
Suffer  endless  anguish,   others  in   Elysian 

valleys  dwell, 
Resting  weary  limbs  at  last  on  beds  of  as- 
phodel. 
Surely,  surely,  slumber  is  more  sweet  than 

toil,  the  shore 
Than  labor  in  the  deep  mid-ocean,  wind  and 

wave  and  oar ; 
O  rest  ye,  brother  mariners,  we  will  not  wan- 
der more. 


A   DREAM  OF  FAIR   WOMEN. 

A   DREAM   OF    FAIR   WOMEN. 


I  READ,  before  my  eyelids  dropt  their  shade, 
"  The  Legend  of  Good  Women,"  long 
ago  . 

Sung  by  the  morning  s.ar  of  song,  who  made 
His  music  heard  below  ; 

Dan  Chaucer,  the  first  warbler,  whose  sweet 
breath 

Preluded  those  melodious  bursts  that  fill 
The  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth 

With  sounds  that  echo  still 

And,  for  a  while,  the  knowledge  of  his  art 
Held  me  above  the  subject,  as  strong 
gales 
Hold  swollen  clouds  from  raining,  the'  my 
heart. 
Brimful  of  those  wild  tales, 

Charged  both  mine  eyes  with  tears.  In  every 
land 

I  saw,  wherever  light  illumineth. 
Beauty  and  anguish  walking  hand  in  hand 

The  downward  slope  to  death. 

Those  far-renowned  brides  of  ancient  song 
Peopled  the  hollow  dark,  like  burning 
stars. 
And  I  heard  sounds  of  insult,  shame,  and 
wrong. 
And  trumpets  blown  for  wars  ; 

And  clattering  flints  batter'd  with  clanging 
hoofs : 
And  I  saw  crowds  in  column'd  sanctua- 
ries ; 
And  forms  that  pass'd  at  windows  and  on  roofs 
Of  marble  palaces ; 

Corpses  across  the  threshold  ;  heroes  tall 
Dislodging  pinnacle  and  parapet 

Upon  the  tortoise  creeping  to  the  wall ; 
Lances  in  ambush  set ; 

And  high  shrine-doors  burst  thro'  with  heated 
blasts 
That  run  before  the  fluttering  tongues  of 
fire  ; 
White    surf  wind-scatter'd  over  sails   and 
masts. 
And  ever  climbing  higher; 

Squadrons  and  squares  of  men  in  brazen 


plates, 
affol" 


Scaffolds,   still  sheets  of  water,  divers 
woes. 
Ranges  of  glimmering  vaults  with  iron  grates, 
And  hush'd  seraglios. 

So  shape  chased  shape  as  swift  as,  when  to 
land 
Bluster  the  winds  and  tides  the  self-sam« 
way, 
Crisp  foam-flakes  scud  along  the  level  sand. 
Torn  from  the  fiinge  of  spray. 


A   DREAM  OF  FAIR   WOMEN. 


31 


R  WOMEN. 

ropt  their  shade, 
'■  Women,"  long 

song,  who  made 


)ler,  whose  sweet 

lus  bursts  that  fill 
Elizabeth 
still. 

edjje  of  his  art 
abject,  as  strong 

raining,  the'  my 

les, 

I  tears.    In  every 

lumineth, 

;  hand  in  hand 

death. 

)f  ancient  son^ 
,rk,  like  burning 

isult,  shame,  and 

r  wars ; 

'd  with  clanging 

ilumn'd  sanctua- 

lows  and  on  roofs 


;  heroes  tall 
1  parapet 
:o  the  wall ; 


thro'  with  heated 
tering  tongues  of 

over  sails  and 
er; 

men  in  brazen 
3f  water,  divers 
with  iron  grates, 

iwift  as,  when  to 

ies  the  self-sams 

the  level  sand, 
spray. 


I  started  once,  or  seem'd  to  start  in  pain. 
Resolved  on  noble  things,  and  strove  to 
speak, 
As  when  a  great  thought  strikes  along  the 
brain, 
And  flushes  all  the  cheek. 

And  once  my  arm  was  lifted  to  hew  down 
A  cavalier  from  oif  his  saddle-bow, 

That  bore  a  lady  fiom  aleaguer'd  town  ; 
And  then,  I  know  not  how. 

All   those   sharp   fancies    by  down-lapsing 
thought 
Stream'd  onward,  lost  their  edges,  and 
did  creep 
RoU'd  on  each   other,  rounded,  smooth'd, 
and  brought 
Into  the  gulfs  of  sleep. 

At  'ast  methought  that  I  had  wandered  far 
In  an  old  wood  :  fresh-wash'd  in  coolest 
dew, 

The  maiden  splendors  of  the  morning  star 
Shook  in  the  steadfast  blue. 

Enormous  elm-tree  boles  did  stoop  and  lean 
Upon  the  dusky  brushwood  underneath 

Their  broad  curved  branches,  fledged  with 
clearest  green, 
New  from  its  silken  sheath. 

The  dim  red  morn  had  died,  her  journey 
done, 
And  with  dead  lips  smiled  at  the  twilight 
plain,  . 

Hal!  fall'n  across  the  threshold  of  the  sun. 
Never  to  rise  again. 

There  was  no  motion  in  the  dumb  dead  air. 
Not  any  song  of  bird  or  sound  of  rill ; 

Grcss  darkness  of  the  inner  sepulchre 
Is  not  so  deadly  still 

As  that  wide  forest.  Growths  of  jasmine 
turn'd 

Their  humid  arms  festooning  tree  to  tree, 
And  at  the  root  thro'  lush  green  grassesburn'd 

The  red  anemone. 

I  knew  the  flowers,  I  knew  the  leaves,  I  knew 
The  tearful  glimmer  of  the  languid  dawn 
On    those    long,   rank,   dark  wood-walks 
drench'd  in  dew. 
Leading  from  lawn  to  lawn. 

The  smell  of  violets,  hidden  in  the  green, 
Pour'd  back  into  my  empty  soul  and 
frame 

The  times  when  I  remember  to  have  been 
Joyful  and  free  from  blame. 

And  from  within  me  a  clear  under-tone 

Thrill'd  thro'  mine  ears  in  that  unblissful 
clime, 

"  Pass  freely  thro' :  the  wood  is  all  thine  own. 
Until  the  end  of  time." 


At  length  I  saw  a  lady  within  call. 

Stiller  than  chisell'd  marble,  standing 
there ; 

A  daughter  of  the  gods,  divinely  tall. 
And  most  divinely  feir. 

Her  loveliness  with  shame  and  with  surprise 
Froze  my  swift  speech ;  she  turning  on 
my  face 

The  star-like  soitows  of  immortal  eyes, 
Spoke  slowly  in  her  place. 

"  I  had  great  beauty ;  ask  thou  not  my  name : 
No  one  can  be  more  wise  than  destiny. 

Many  drew  swords  and  died.     Where'er  I 
came 
I  brought  calamity." 

"  No  marvel,  sovereign  lady  :  in  fan"  field 
Myself  for  such  a  face  had  boldly  died." 

I  answer'd  free  ;  and  tuniiiij^  I  appeal'd 
To  one  that  stood  beside. 

But  she,  with  sick  and  scornful  looks  averse, 
To  her  full  height  her  stately  stature 
draws  ; 
"My  youth,"  she  said,  "was  blasted  with  a 
curse  : 
This  woman  was  the  cause. 

"  I  was  cut  off  from  hope  in  that  sad  place. 
Which  yet  to  name  my  spirit  loathes  and 
fears  : 

My  father  held  his  hand  upon  his  face : 
I,  blinded  with  my  tears, 

"  Still  strove  to  speak  :  my  voice  was  thick 
with  sighs 
As  in  a  dream.     Dimly  I  could  descry 
The  stern  black-bearded  kings  with  wolfish 
eyes, 
Waiting  to  see  me  die. 

"  The  high  masts  flicker'd  as  they  lay  afloat ; 
The  crowds,  the  temples,  waver'd,  and 
the  shore  ; 
The  bright  death  quiver'd  at  the  victim's 
throat ; 
Touch'd  ;  and  I  knew  no  more." 

Whereto  the  other  with  a  downward  brow : 
"  I  would  the  white  cold  heavy-plunging 
foam, 

Whirl 'd  by  the  wind,  had  roll'd  me  deep  below, 
Then  when  I  left  my  home." 

Her  slow  full  words  sank  thro'  the  silence 
drear. 
As  thunder-drops  fall  on  a  sleeping  sea  ; 
Sudden  I  heard  a  voice  that  cried,  "  Come 
here. 
That  I  may  look  on  thee." 

I  turning  saw,  throned  on  a  flowery  rise. 
One  sitting  on  a  crimson  scarf  unroll'd  ; 

A  queen,  with  swarthy  cheeks  and  bold  black 
eyes, 
Brow-bound  with  burning  gold. 


33 


A   DREAM  OF  FAIR    ]VOMEN. 


I  1 1 


She,  flashing  forth  a  haughty  smile,  began  : 
"  I  govern'd  men  by  change,  and  so  1 
sway'd 
All  moods.     'T  is  long  since  I  have  seen  a 
man. 
Once,  like  the  moon,  I  made 

"  The  ever-shifting  currents  of  the  blood 
According  to  my  humor  ebb  and  flow. 

I  have  no  men  to  govern  in  this  wood  : 
That  makes  my  only  woe. 

"  Nay —  yet  it  chafes  me  that  I  could  not 
bend 
One  will ;  nor  tame  and  tutor  with  mine 
eye 
That  dull    cold-blooded  Cassar.      Prythee, 
friend, 
Where  is  Mark  Antony? 

"The  man,  my  lover,  with  whom  I  rode 
sublime 
On  Fortune's  neck :  we  sat  as  God  bv 
God : 
The  Nilus  would  have  risen  before  his  time 
And  flooded  at  our  nod. 

"  We  drank  the  Libyan  Sun  to  sleep,  and  lit 
Lamps  which  outburn'd  Canopus.    O 
my  life 

In  ECTpt  !     O  the  dalliance  and  the  wit, 
1  he  flattery  and  the  strife, 

"  And  the  wild  kiss,  when  fresh  from  war's 
alarms. 

My  Hercules,  my  Roman  Antony, 
My  mailed  Bacchus  leapt  into  my  arms. 

Contented  there  to  die  ! 

"  And  there  he  died ;  and  when  I  heard  my 
name 
Sigh'd  forth  with  life  I  would  not  brook 
my  fear- 
Of  the  other :   with  a  worm  I  balk'd  his 
fame. 
Wliat  else  was  left  ?  look  here  I  " 

(With  that  she  tore  her  robe  apart,  and  half 
_  The  polish'd  argent  of  her  breast  to  sight 
Laid   bare.      Thereto  she  pointed  with  a 
laugh. 
Showing  the  aspic's  bite.) 

"  I  died  a  Queen.  The  Roman  soldier  found 
Me  lymg  dead,  my  crown  about  my 
brows, 

A  name  forever  !  —  lying  robed  andcrowij'd, 
Worthy  a  Roman  spouse." 

Her  warbling  voice,  a  lyre  of  widest  range 
Struck  by  all  passion,  did  fall  down  and 
glance 
From  tone  to  tone^  and   glided   thro'  all 
change 
Of  liveliest  utterance. 

When  she  made  pause  I  knew  not  for  de- 
light ; 
Because  with  sudden  motion  from  the 
ground 


She  raised  her  piercing  orbs,  and  fill'd  with 
light 
The  interval  of  sound. 

Still  with  »heir  fires  Love  tipt  his  keenest 
darts  ; 
As  once  they  drew  into  two  burning 
rings 
All  beams  of  Love,  melting  the  mighty  hearts 
Of  captains  and  of  kings. 

Slowly  my  sense  undazzled.    Then  I  heard 
A  noise  of  some  one  coming  thro'  the 
lawn, 

And  singing  clearer  than  the  crested  bird, 
That  claps  his  wings  at  dawn. 

"  The  torrent  brooKs  of  hallow'd  Israel 

From  craggy  hollows  pouring,  late  and 
soon, 
Jound  all  night  long,  in  falling  thro'  the 
dell. 
Far-heard  beneath  the  moon. 

"  The  balmy  moon  of  bl  -sed  Israel 

Floods  all  the  deep- blue   gloom  with 
bes  ns  divine  : 
All  night  the  splinter'd  crags  that  wall  the 
dell 
With  spires  of  s>Uver  shine." 

As  one  that  museth  where  broad  sunshine 
laves 
The  lawn  of  so'.ie  cathedral,  thro'  the 
door 
Hearing  the  holv  r/gan  rolling  waves 
Of  sound  on  roof  and  floor 

Within,  andanthem  sung,  is  charm'd  and  ti^d 
To  where  he  stands,  —  so  stood  I,  when 
that  flow 

Of  music  left  the  lips  of  her  that  died 
To  save  her  father's  vow ; 

The  daughter  of  the  warrior  Gileadite, 

A  maiden  pure  ;  as  when  she  went  along 

From  Mizpeh's  tower'd  gate  with  welcome 
.  light, 
With  timbrel  and  with  song. 

My  words  leapt  forth  :  "  Heaven  heads  the 
count  of  crimes 
With   that  wild  oath."     She  render'd 
answer  high : 
"  Not  so,  nor  once  alone ;  a  thousand  times 
I  would  be  born  and  die. 

"  Single  I  grew,  like  some  green  plant,  whose 
root 
Creeps  to  the  garden  water-pipes  be- 
neath, 
Feedmg  the  flower ;  but  ere  my  flower  to  fruit 
Changed,  I  was  ripe  for  death. 

"My  God,  my  land,  my  father,  —  these  did 
move 
Me  from  my  bliss  of  life,  that  Nature 
gave, 


)s,  and  fiU'd  with 

tipt  his  keenest 
nto  two  burning 

the  mighty  hearts 

gs. 

Then  I  heard 
:oming  thro'  the 

le  crested  bird, 
dawn. 

low'd  Israel 
pouring,  late  and 

falling  thro'  the 

moon. 

id  Israel 

lue   gloom  with 

igs  that  wall  the 

inc." 

broad  sunshine 

ledral,  thro'  the 

ng  waves 

oor 

charm'd  and  tird 
io  stood  I,  when 

that  died 

Gileadite, 
1  she  went  along 
e  with  welcome 

ong. 

aven  heads  the 

She  render'ci 

thousand  times 

len  plant,  whose 

vater-pipes  be- 

ly  flower  to  fruit 
leath. 

er,  —  these  did 

;,  that  Nature 


MA  KG  A  RUT. 


L««r«r'd  softly  with  a  thtoefold  cord  of  iove 
Pewn  to  a  silent  grave. 

"  And  I  went  mourning,  '  No  fair  Hebrew 
boy 
Shall    smile    away  my    maiden  blame 
among 
The  Hebrew  niotliers'  —emptied  of  all  joy, 
Leaving  the  dance  and  song, 

"Ltaving  the  olivc  gardens  far  below, 

Leavmg  the  promise  of  my  bridal  bower. 

The  valleys  of  grape-loaded  vines  that  glow 
Beneath  the  battled  tower. 

"  The  light  white  cloud  swam  over  us.  Anon 
We  heard  the  lion  roaring  from  his  den ; 

We  Saw  the  large  white  stars  rise  one  by  one, 
Or,  from  the  darken'd  glen, 

"  Saw  God  divide    the    night  with    flying 
flame, 

And  thunder  on  the  everlasting  hills. 
I  heard  Him,  for  He  spake,  and  grief  became 

A  solemn  scorn  of  ills. 

"When  the  next  moon  was  roll'd  into  the 
oky, 
Strength  came  to  me  that  equall'd  my 
desire. 
How  beautiful  a  thing  it  was  to  die 
For  God  and  for  my  sire  ! 

"  It  comforts  me  in  this  one  thought  to  dwell, 
That  I  subdued  me  to  my  father's  will ; 

Because  the  kiss  he  gave  me,  ere  I  fell, 
Sweetens  the  spirit  still. 

"  Moreover  it  is  written  that  my  race 

Hew'd  Ammon,  hip  and  thigh,   from 
Aroer 

On  Amon  unto  Minneth."    Here  her  face 
Glow'd,  as  I  look'd  at  her. 

She  lock'd  her  lips :  she  lefl  me  wliere  I 
stood : 
"Glory  to  God,"  she  sang,  and  past 
afar, 
Thridding  the  sombre  boskage  of  the  wood, 
Toward  the  morning-star. 

Losing  her  carol  I  stood  pensively, 

As  one  that  from  a  casement  leans  his 
head, 

When  midnight  bells  cease  ringing  suddenly. 
And  the  old  year  is  dead. 


33 


"  Alas  I  alas  !  "  a  low  voice,  full  of  care, 
Murmur'd  beside  me  :  "Turn  and  look 
on  me ; 

I  am  that  Rosamond,  whom  men  call  fair. 
If  what  I  was  I  be. 

'•  Would  I  had  been  some  maiden  coarse  and 
poor ! 


Those  dragon  eyes  of  anger'd  Eleanor 
Do  hunt  me,  day  and  night." 

She  ceased  in  tears,  fallen  from  hope  and 
trust : 
To  whom  the  Egyptian  :  "  Q,  yoii  tamely 
died  I 
you  should  have  clung  to  Fulvia's  waist,  and 
thrust 
The  dagger  thro'  her  side." 

With  that  sharp  sound  the  white  dawn's 
creeping  beams, 

.Stol'ii  to  my  brain,  dissolved  the  mystery 
Of  folded  sleep.     The  captain  of  my  dreams 

Ruled  in  the  eastern  sky. 

Morn  broaden'd  on  the  borders  of  the  dark. 
Ere  I  saw  her,  who  clasp'd  in  her  last 
trance 

Her  murder'd  father's  head,  or  Joan  of  Arc 
A  light  of  ancient  France  ;  ' 

Or  her,  who  knew  that  Love  can  vanquish 
Death, 
Who  kneeling,  with  one  arm  about  her 
kmg, 
Drew  forth  the  poison  with  her  balmy  breath, 
Sweet  as  new  buds  in  Spring. 

No  memory  labors  longer  from  the  deep 
Gold-mines  of  thought  to  lift  the  hidden 
ere 

That  glimpses,  moving  up,  than  I  from  sleep 
To  gather  and  tell  o'er 

Each  little  sound  and  sight.  With  what  dull 
pain 

Compass'd,how  eagerly  I  sought  to  strike 
Into  that  wondrous  track  of  dreams  again  I 

But  no  two  dreams  are  hke. 

As  when  a  soul  laments,  which  hath  been 
blest, 

Desiring  what  is  mingled  with  past  years, 
In  yearnings  that  can  never  be  exprest 

By  signs  or  groans  or  tears ; 

Because  all.  words,  tho'  cull'd  with  choicest 
art. 

Failing  to  give  the  bitter  of  the  sweet. 
Wither  beneath  the  palate,  and  the  heart 

Faints,  faded  by  its  heat. 


MARGARET. 


rt„i^"v'    T   .      ,j  ....  As  perfume  of  the  cuckoo-flower  ? 

O  me,  that  I  should  ever  see  the  light  I    I  From  the  westward-winding  flood. 


O  SWEET  pale  Margaret, 

O  rare  pale  Margaret, 
What  lit  your  eyes  with  tearful  power, 
Like  moonlight  on  a  falling  shower? 
Who  lent  you,  love,  your  mortal  dower 

Of  pensive  thought  and  aspect  pale. 

Your  melancholy  sweet  and  frail 
As  perfume  of  the  cuckoo-flower  ? 


34 


THE  BLACKBIRD.  -  THE  DEATH  OF    THE  OLD   YEAR. 


From  the  evening-lighted  wood, 

From  all  things  outward  you  have  won 

A  tearful  grace,  as  tho'  you  stood 

Between  the  rainbow  and  the  sun. 

The  very  smile  before  you  speak, 

That  dimples  vour  transparent  cheek, 
Encircles  all  the  heart,  and  feedeth 

The  senses  with  a  still  delight 

Of  dainty  sorrow  without  sound. 
Like  the  lender  amber  round. 
Which  the  moon  about  her  spreadeth, 

Movmg  thro'  a  tleecy  night. 


You  love,  remaining  peacefully, 

To  hear  the  murmur  of  the  strife, 
But  enter  not  the  toil  of  life. 

Your  spirit  is  the  calmed  sea. 

Laid  by  the  tumult  of  the  fight. 

You  are  the  evening  star,  alway 

Remaining  betwixt  dark  and  bright : 

LuU'd  echoes  of  laborious  day 

Come  to  you,  gleams  of  mellow  light 
Hoat  by  you  on  tlie  verge  of  niglit. 


What  can  it  matter,  Margaret, 

What  songs  below  the  waning  stars 

The  lion-heart,  Plantagenet, 

Sang  looking  thro'  his  prison  bars? 
Exquisite  Margaret,  who  can  tell 

The  last  wild  thought  of  Chatelet, 
Just  ere  the  fallen  axe  did  part 
The  burning  brain  from  the  true  heart, 
Even  in  her  sight  he  loved  so  well  ? 

4- 
A  fairy  shield  your  Genius  made 

And  gave  you  on  your  natal  day. 
Your  sorrow,  only  sorrow's  shade, 

Keeps  real  sorrow  far  away. 
You  move  not  in  such  solitudes, 

Y>;a  are  not  less  divine, 
But  more  human  in  your  moods, 

Than  your  twin-sister,  Adeline, 
Your  hair  is  darker,  and  your  eyes 

Touch'd  with  a  somewhat  darker  hue. 

And  less  aerially  blue 

But  ever  trembling  thro'  the  dew 
Of  dainty- woful  sympathies. 


O  sweet  pale  Margaret, 
O  rare  pale  Margaret, 
Come  down,  come  down,  and  hear  me  speak: 
Tie  up  the  ringlets  on  your  cheek  : 

The  sun  is  just  about  to  set. 
The  arching  limes  are  tall  and  shady, 
And  fault,  niny  lights  are  seen. 
Moving  ill  the  leafy  beech. 
Rise  from  the  feast  of  sorrow,  lady, 

Where  aii  day  long  you  sit  between 
Joy  and  woe,  and  whisper  each. 
Or  only  look  across  the  lawn, 

Look  out  below  your  bower-eaves. 
Look  down,  and  let  i    ur  blue  eyes  dawiA 
Upon  me  thro'  the   asmine  '  Mves, 


THE   BLACKBIRD. 

O  Blackbird  !  sing  me  sotnething  well : 
While  all  the  neighbors  shoot  the  round, 
I  keep  smooth  plats  of  fruitful  ground. 

Where  thou  may'st  warble,  eat,  and  dwell. 

The  espaliers  and  the  standards  all 
.Are  thine  ;  the  range  of  lawn  and  park: 
The  unnetted  black-hearts  ripen  dark. 

All  thine,  against  the  garden  wall. 

Yet,  tho'  I  spared  thee  all  the  Spring, 
Thy  sole  delight  is,  sitting  still, 
With  that  gold  dagger  of  thy  bill 

To  fret  the  Summer  jenneting. 

A  golden  bill !  the  silver  tongue. 

Cold  February  loved,  is  dry  : 

Plenty  corrupts  the  melody 
That  made  thee  famous  once,  when  young: 

And  in  the  sultry  garden-squares. 

Now  thy  flute-notes  are  changed  to  coarse, 
I  hear  thee  not  at  all,  or  hoarse 

As  when  a  hawker  hawks  his  wares. 

Take  warning  1  he  that  will  not  sing 
While  yon  sun  prospers  in  the  blue. 
Shall  sine  for  want,  ere  leaves  are  new. 

Caught  in  the  frozen  palms  of  Spring. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  OLD  YEAH 

Fc'LL  knee-deep  lies  the  winter  snow, 
And  the  winter  winds  are  wearily  sighing : 
'loll  ye  the  church-bell  sad  ;ind'slow. 
And  tread  softly  and  speak  low, 
For  [lie  old  year  lies  a-dying. 

Old  year  you  must  not  die; 

You  came  to  us  mj  readily,  , 

You  lived  with  us  so  steadily, 

Old  year,  you  r'lall  not  die. 

He  lieth  still :  he    nth  not  move : 

He  will  not  see  the  dawn  of  day. 

He  hath  no  other  life  above. 

He  gave  me  a  friend,  and  a  true  true-love 

And  the  New-year  will  take  'em  away. 

Old  year  you  must  not  go ; 

So  long  as  you  have  been  with  us, 

Such  joy  as  you  have  seen  with  us, 

Old  year,  you  shall  not  go. 

He  froth'd  his  bumpers  to  the  brim; 

A  jollier  year  we  shall  not  see. 

But  tho'  his  eyes  at>.  waxing  dim, 

And  tho'  his  foes  speak  ill  of  him, 

He  "  IS  a  friend  to  me. 

t  'Id  year,  you  shall  not  die  : 

We  did  so  laugh  and  cry  with  you, 


I  've  '-Sif  a  miijd  to  die  ' 
Old  year,  if  you  must  die. 


1  you, 


He  was  full  of  joke  and  jest. 
But  all  his  merry  quips  are  o'er. 
To  see  him  die  across  the  waste 
His  son  and  heir  doth  ride  post-haste, 


TO  7.  S.  —  YOU  ASK  MB   JVHY. 


E  OLD  YEA» 


I'ut  he  '11  be  dead  before. 
Every  one  for  his  own. 
The  iiiglii  is  starry  ni)d  cold,  my  friend, 
And  the  New-year  blithe  and  bold,  my 

friend, 
Comes  up  to  take  his  own. 

How  hard  he  breathes  !  over  the  inow 
I  he.ird  jiist  now  the  crowing  cock. 
'J'lie  shadows  flicker  to  and  Iro  : 
The  cricket  chirps  :  the  light  burns  low  : 
'T  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock. 

Shake  hands,  before  you  die. 

Old  year,  we  '11  dearly  rue  for  you  : 

What  is  it  we  can  do  for  you  ? 

Speak  out  before  you  die. 

His  face  is  growing^  sharp  and  thin. 
Alack  !  our  friend  is  gone. 
Close  up  his  eyes  :  tie  up  his  chin  : 
Step  from  the  corpse,  and  let  him  in 
That  standeth  there  alone. 

And  waiteth  at  the  door. 

There's  a  new  foot  on  the  floor,  my  friend, 

And  a  new  face  at  the  door,  my  friend, 

A  uew  face  at  the  door. 


IS 


TO  J.  S. 

The  wind,  that  beats  the  mountain,  blows 
More  softly  round  the  open  wold. 

And  gently  comes  the  world  to  those 
That  are  cast  in  gentle  mould. 

And  me  this  knowledge  bolder  made. 
Or  else  I  had  not  dare  to  flow 

In  these  words  toward  you,  and  invade 
Even  with  a  verse  your  holy  woe. 

'T  is  strange  that  those  we  lean  on  most, 
Those    in   whose   laps   our    limbs   are 
nursed. 

Fall  into  shadow,  soonest  lost : 

Those  we  love  first  are  taken  first. 

God  gives  us  love.    Something  to  love 
He  lends  us  ;  but,  when  love  is  grown 

To  ripeness,  that  on  which  it  throve, 
Falls  off,  ard  love  is  left  alone. 

This  is  the  curse  of  time.     Alas  ! 

In  grief  I  am  not  all  unlearn'd  ; 
Once  thro'  mine  own  doors  Death  did  pass; 

One  went,  who  never  hath  retum'd. 

He  will  not  smile  —  not  speak  to  me 

Once  more.    Two  years  his  chair  is  seen 

tmpty  before  us.     That  was  he 

W  ihout  whose  life  I  had  not  been. 

Your  loss  is  rarer  :  for  this  star 
Rose  with  you  thro'  a  little  arc 

Of  heaven,  nor  having  wander'd  far 
Shot  on  the  sudden  into  dark. 

I  knew  your  brother :  his  mute  dust 
I  honor  and  his  living  worth  : 


A  man  more  pure  and  bold  and  Just 
Was  never  born  into  the  earth. 

f  have  not  look'd  upon  you  nigh, 

Since  that  dear  soul  hath  lall'n  asleep. 

Great  Nature  is  more  wise  than  I : 
1  will  not  tell  you  not  to  weep. 

And  tho'  mine  own  eyes  fill  with  dew, 
Drawn  from  the  spirit  thro'  the  brain, 

I  will  not  even  preach  to  you, 

"  Weep,  weeping  dulls  the  inward  pain." 

Let  Grief  be  her  own  mistress  still. 

She  lovelh  her  own  anguish  deep 
More  than  much  pleasure.     Let  her  will 

Be  done  —  to  weep  or  not  to  weep. 

I  will  not  say  "  God's  ordinance    .     - 
Of  Death  is  blown  in  every  wiiid"; 

For  that  is  not  a  common  chance 
That  takes  away  a  noble  mind. 

His  memory  long  will  live  alone 

In  all  our  henrts,  as  mournful  light 

That  broods  above  the  fallen  sun, 

And  dwells  in  heaven  half  the  night 

Vain  solace  I  Memory  standing  near 

Cast  down  her  eyes,  and  in  her  throat 

Her  voice  seem'd  distant,  and  a  tear 
Dropt  on  the  letters  as  1  wrote. 

T  wrote  f  know  not  what.  In  truth, 
Hosv  should  I  soothe  you  anyway, 

Who  miss  the  brother  of  your  youth? 
Yet  something  1  did  wish  to  say  : 

For  he  too  was  a  friend  to  me  : 

Both  are  my  friends,  and  my  true  breast 
Bleedeth  for  both  :  yet  it  may  be 

That  only  silence  suiteth  best. 

Words  weaker  than  your  grief  would  make 
Grief  more.     'T  were  better  I   should 
cease  ; 

Although  myself  could  almost  falce 

The  place  of  him  that  sleeps  Ju  ^icace. 

Sleep  sweetly,  tender  heart,  in  peace  : 
Sleep,  holy  spirit,  blessed  soul 

While  the  stars  burn,  the  moons  ii  crease, 
And  the  great  ages  onward  roil. 

Sleep  till  the  end,  true  soul  and  sweet. 

Nothing  comes  to  thee  new  or  strange, 
Sleep  full  of  rest  from  head  to  feet ; 

Lie  still,  dry  dust,  secure  of  change. 


You  ask  me,  why,  tho'  ill  at  ease, 
Within  this  region  I  subsist, 
Whose  spirits  falter  in  the  mist, 

And  languish  for  the  purple  seas? 


m 


I 


36  OF  OLD  SAT  FREEDOM.— LOVE   THOU  THY  LAND. 


i'l 


'       t 


It  is  the  land  that  freemen  till, 

That  sober-suited  Freedom  chose, 
The  land,  where  girt  with  friends  or  foes 

A  man  may  speak  the  thing  he  will ; 

A  land  of  settled  government, 

A  land  of  just  and  old  renown. 
Where  Freedom  broadens  slowly  down 

From  precedent  to  precedent : 

Where  faction  seldom  gathers  head. 
But  by  degrees  to  fulness  wrought, 
The  strength  of  some  diffusive  thought 

Hath  time  and  space  to  work  and  spread. 

Should  banded  unions  persecute 
Opinion,  and  induce  a  time 
When  single  thought  is  civil  crime, 

And  mdividual  freedom  mute  ; 

Tho'  Power  should  make  from  land  to  land 
The  name  of  Britain  trebly  great  — 
Tho'  every  channel  of  the  State 

Should  almost  choke  with  golden  sand  — 

Yet  waft  me  from  the  harbor-mouth. 
Wild  wind  !  I  seek  a  warmer  sky, 
And  I  will  see  before  I  die 

The  palms  and  temples  of  the  South. 


Of  old  sat  Freedom  on  the  heights, 
The  thunders  breaking  at  her  feet : 

Above  her  shook  the  starry  lights  : 
She  heard  the  torrents  meet. 

There  in  her  place  she  did  rejoice, 
Self-gather'd  in  her  prophet-mind, 

But  fragment#of  her  mighty  voice 
Came  rolling  on  the  wind. 

Then  stept  she  down  thro'  town  and  field 
To  mingle  with  the  human  race, 

And  part  by  part  to  men  reveal'd 
The  fulness  of  her  face  — 

Grave  mother  of  majestic  works. 
From  her  isle-altar  gazing  down. 

Who,  God-like,  grasps  the  triple  forks. 
And,  King-like,  wears  the  crown  : 

Her  open  eyes  desire  the  truth. 

The  wisdom  of  a  thousand  years 
Is  in  them.     May  perpetual  youth 

Keep  dry  their  light  from  tears  ; 

That  her  fair  form  may  stand  and  shine. 
Make  bright  our    days   and  light  bur 
dreams, 

Turning  to  scorn  with  lips  divine 
The  falsehood  of  extremes  I 


Love  thou  thy  land,  with  love  far-brought 
From  out  the  storied  Past,  and  used 
Within  the  Present,  but  transfused 

Thro'  future  time  by  power  of  thought. 

True  love  tum'd  roimd  on  fixed  poles. 
Love,  that  endures  not  sordid  ends. 
For  English  natures,  freemen,  friends, 

1  hy  brothers  and  immortal  souls. 

But  pamper  not  a  hasty  time. 
Nor  feed  with  crude  imaginings 
rhe  herd,  wild  hearts  and  feeble  wings, 

That  every  sophister  can  lime. 

Deliver  not  the  tasks  of  might 
To  weakness,  neither  hide  the  ray 
From  those,  not  blind,  who  wait  for  day, 

Tho'  sitting  girt  with  doubtful  light. 

Make  knowledge  circle  with  the  winds ; 

But  let  her  herald.  Reverence,  fly 

Before  her  to  whatever  sky 
Bear  seed  of  men  and  growth  of  minds. 

Watch  what  main-currents  draw  the  years  ; 
Cut  Prejudice  against  the  grain  : 
But  gentle  words  are  always  gain  : 

Regard  the  weakness  of  thy  peers : 

Nor  toil  for  title,  place,  or  touch. 
Of  pension,  neither  count  on  praise  ; 
It  grows  to  guerdon  after-days  : 

Nor  deal  in  watch-words  overmuch ; 

Not  clinging  to  some  ancient  saw  ; 

Not  master'd  by  some  modern  term ; 

Not  swift  or  slow  to  change,  but  firm  : 
And  in  its  season  bring  the  law ; 

That  from  Discussion's  lip  may  fall 
With  Life,  that,  working  strongly,  binds  — 
Set  in  all  lights  by  many  minds, 

To  close  the  interests  of  all. 

For  Nature,  also,  cold  and  warm. 
And  moist  and  dry,  devising  long. 
Thro',  many  agents  making  strong, 

Maturei  the  mdividual  form. 

Meet  is  it  changes  should  control 

Our  being,  lest  we  rust  in  ease. 

We  all  are  changed  by  still  degrees, 
All  but  the  basis  of  the  soul. 

So  letthe  change  which  comes  be  free 
To  ingroove  itself  with  that,  which  flies. 
And  work,  a  joint  of  state,  that  plies 

Its  office,  moved  with  sympathy. 

A  saying,  hard  to  shape  in  act  : 
For  all  the  past  of  Time  reveals 
A  bridal  dawn  of  thunder-peals. 

Wherever  Thought  hath  wedded  Fact. 

Ev'n  now  we  hear  with  inward  strife 
A  motion  toiling  in  the  gloom  — 


ND. 


a  far-brought 
and  used 
insfused 
f  thought. 

cd  poles, 
lid  ends, 
en,  friends, 
)uls. 


lings 

feeble  wings. 


t 

the  ray 
wait  for  day, 
1  light. 

the  winds ; 
ice,  fly 

of  minds. 

iw  the  years ; 
•ain  : 
s  gain : 
leers: 

ch, 

n  praise : 
jys : 
uuch ; 

iaw ; 

;rn  term ; 
,  but  firm : 
v; 

ly  fall 

ongly,  binds  — 

ads, 


irm, 
:  long, 
strong, 


:rol 
;se. 
degrees, 

I  be  free 
which  flies, 
hat  plies 


eals 
lals, 
ed  Fact. 

strife 
a  — 


THE  GOOSE. 


The  Spirit  of  the  years  to  come 
Yearning  to  mix  himself  with  Life. 

A  slow-develop'd  strength  awaits 
Completion  m  a  painful  school ; 
Phantoms  of  other  forms  of  rule. 

New  Majesties  of  mighty  States  — 

The  warders  of  the  growing  hour, 
But  vague  in  vapor,  hard  to  mark  ; 
And  round  them  sea  and  air  are  dark 

With  great  contrivances  of  Power. 

Of  many  changes,  aptly  join'd, 
Is  bodied  forth  the  second  whole. 
Regard  gradation,  lest  the  soul 

Of  Discord  race  the  rising  wind  ; 

A  wind  to  puff  your  idol-fires, 
And  heap  their  ashes  on  the  head  ; 
To  shame  the  boast  so  often  made, 

That  we  are  wiser  than  our  sires. 

O  yet,  if  Nature's  evil  star 
Drive  men  in  manhood,  as  in  youth. 
To  follow  flying  steps  of  Truth 

Across  the  brazen  bridge  of  war  — 

If  New  and  Old,  disastrous  feud. 
Must  ever  shock,  like  armed  foes. 
And  this  be  true,  till  Time  shall  close. 

That  Principles  are  rain'd  in  blood  ; 

Not  yet  the  wise  of  heart  would  cease 
To  hold  his  hope  thro'  shame  and  guilt. 
But  with  his  hand  against  the  hilt. 

Would  pace  the  troubled  land,  like  Peace ; 

Not  less,  tho'  dogs  of  Faction  bay. 
Would  serve  his  kind  in  deed  and  word. 
Certain,  if  knowledge  bring  the  sword, 

That  knowledge  takes  the  sword  ?way  — 

Would  love  the  gleams  of  good  that  broke 
From  either  side,  nor  veil  his  eyes  : 
And  if  some  dreadful  need  should  rise 

Would  strike,  and  firmly,  and  one  stroke  : 

To-morrow  yet  would  reap  to-day. 
As  we  bear  blossom  of  the  dead ; 
Earn  well  the  thrifty  months,  nor  wed 

Raw  Haste,  half-sister  to  Delay. 


37 


THE  GOOSE. 

I  KNEW  an  old  wife  lean  and  poor. 
Her  rags  scarce  held  together  ; 

1  here  strode  a  stranger  to  the  door. 
And  it  was  windy  weather. 

He  utterM  rhyme  and  reason. 


"  Here,  take  the  goose,  and  keep  you  warm, 
It  is  a  stormy  season." 

She  caught  the  white  goose  by  the  leg. 

A  goose  —  't  was  no  great  matter. 
The  goose  let  fall  a  golden  egg 

With  cackle  and  with  clatter. 

She  dropt  the  goose,  and  caught  the  pelf. 

And  ran  to  tell  her  neighbors  ; 
And  bless'd  herself,  and  cursed  herself. 

And  rested  from  her  labors. 

And  feeding  high,  and  living  sofl. 

Grew  plump  and  able-bodied ; 
Until  the  grave  churchwarden  dolT'd, 

The  parson  smirk'd  and  nodded. 

So  sitting,  served  by  man  and  maid. 
She  felt  her  heart  grow  prouder:  -  ' 

But  ah  !  the  more  the  white  goose  laid 
It  clack'd  and  cackled  louder. 

It  clutter'd  here,  it  chuckled  there  ; 

It  stirr'd  the  old  wife's  mettle  : 
She  shifted  in  her  elbow-chair. 

And  hurl'd  the  pan  and  kettle. 

"  A  quinsy  choke  thy  cursed  note  !  " 

Then  wax'd  her  anger  stronger. 
"  Go,  take  the  goose,  and  wring  her  throat, 

I  will  not  bear  it  longer." 

Then  yelp'd  the  cur,  and  yawl'd  the  cat ; 

Ran  Gaffer,  stumbled  Gammer, 
The  goose  flew  this  way  and  flew  that, 

And  fill'd  the  house  with  clamor. 

As  head  and  heels  upon  the  floor 

They  floundered  all  together, 
There  strode  a  stranger  to  the  door, 

And  it  was  windy  weather ; 

He  took  the  goose  upon  his  arm, 

He  utter'd  words  of  scorning  ; 
"  So  keep  you  cold,  or  keep  you  warm. 

It  is  a  stormy  morning." 

The  wild  wind  rang  from  park  and  plain, 

And  round  the  attics  rumbled, 
Till  all  the  tables  danced  again. 

And  half  the  chimneys  tumbled. 

The  glass  blew  in,  the  fire  blew  out, 

The  blast  was  hard  and  harder. 
Her  cap  blew  off,  her  gown  blew  up, 

And  a  whirlwind  clear'd  the  larder ; 

And  while  on  all  sides  breaking  loose 

Her  household  fled  the  danger. 
Quoth  she,  "  The  Devil  take  the  goose. 

And  God  forget  the  stranger  I " 


THE  EPIC.—MORTE  D' ARTHUR. 


ENGLISH   IDYLS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


II 


(published  184a.) 


THE  EPIC. 


At  Francis  Allen's  on  the  Christmas-eve,  — 
The  game  of  forfeits  clone  —  the  girls  all  kiss'd 
Beneath  the  sacred  bush  and  past  away  — 
The  parson  Holmes,  the  poet  Everard  Hall, 
1  he  host,  and  I  sat  round  the  wassail-bowl, 
Then  half-way  ebb'd :  and  there  we  held  a 

talk, 
How  all  the  old  honor  had  from  Christmas 

gone. 
Or  gone,  or  dwindled  down  to  some  odd  games 
In  some  odd  nooks  like  this ;   till  I,,tired  out 
With  cutting  eights  that  day  upon  the  pond, 
Where,  three  times  slipping  from  the  outer 

edge, 
I  bump'd  the  ice  into  three  several  stars, 
Fell  in  a  doze  :  and  half-awake  I  heard 
U  he  parson  taking  wide  and  wider  sweeps. 
Now  harping  on  tfie  church-commissioners, 
Now  hawking  at  Geology  and  schism  ; 
Until  I  woke,  and  found  him  settled  down 
Upon  the  general  decay  of  faith 
Right  thro'  the  world,  "  at  home  was  little  left. 
And  none  abroad  ■  there  was  no  anchor,  none, 
To  hold  by."    Francis,  laughing,  clapt  his 

hand 
On  Everard's- shoulder,   with   "I  hold  by 

him." 
"And  I,"  quoth  Everard,  "by  the  wassail- 
bowl?' 
"  Why  yes,"  I  said,  "  we  knew  your  gift  that 

way 
At  college  :  but  another  which  you  had 
I  mean  of  verse  (for  so  we  held  it  then,) 
What  came  of  that?"    "You  know,"  said 

Frank,  "  he  burnt 
His   epic,   his    King  Arthur,   some  twelve 

books"  — 
And  then  to  me  demanding  why?    "  O,  sir, 
He  thought  that  nothing  new  was  said,  or  else 
Something  so  said  'twas  nothing— that  a 

truth 
Looks  freshest  in  the  fashion  of  the  day : 
God  knows  :  he  has  a  mint  of  reasons  :  ask. 
It  pleased  me  well  enough."     "  Nay,  nay," 

said  Hall, 
"Why  fake  the  style  of  those  heroic  times? 
J  or  nature  brings  not  back  the  Mastodon, 
Nor  we  those  times  ;  and  why  should  any  man 
Hemodel  models?  these  twelve  books ofmine 
Were  faint  Homeric  echoes,  nothing-worth. 
Mere  chaff  and  draff,  much  better  burnt," 

"  But  I," 
Said  Francis,  "  pick'd  the  eleventh  from  this 

hearth, 
And  have  it :  keep  a  thing,  its  use  will  come. 
I  hoard  it  as  a  sugar-plum  for  Holmes." 
He  laugh'd,  and  I,  though  sleepy,  like  a  horse 


That  hears  the  corn-bin  open,  prick'd  my  ears ; 
I-pr  I  remember'd  Everard's  college  fame 
When  we  were  Freshmen  :  then  at  my  request 
He  brought  it  ;  and  the  poet  little  urged. 
But  with  some  prelude  of  disparagement, 
Kead,  mouthing  out  his  hollow  oes  and  aes, 
Deep-chested  music,  and  10  this  result. 


MORTE  D'ARTHUR. 

So  all  day  long  the  noise  of  battle  roll'd 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea; 
Until  King  Arthur's  table,  man  by  man. 
Had  fall'n  in  Lyonness  about  their  Lord, 
King  Arthur :  then,  because  his  wound  was 

deep. 
The  bold  Sir  Bedivere  uplifted  him. 
Sir  Bedivere,  the  last  of  all  his  knights. 
And  bore  him  to  a  chapel  nigh  the  field, 
A  broken  chancel  with  a  broken  cross, 
Ihat  stood  on  a  dark  strait  of  barren  land. 
On  one  side  lay  the  Ocean,  and  on  one 
Lay  a  great  water,  and  the  monn  was  full. 
Then  s|)ake  King  Arthur  to  Sir  Bedivere  : 
The  sequel  of  today  unsolders  all 
?.M*  goodliest  fellowship  of  famous  knights 
Whereof  this  world  holds  record.    Such  a 

sleep 
They  sleep  —  the  men  I  loved.    I  think  that 

we 
Shall  never  more,  at  any  future  time. 
Delight  our  souls  with  talk  of  knightly  deeds, 
Walking  about  the  gardens  and  the  halls 
Of  Camelot,  as  in  the  days  that  were.  . 
1  perish  by  this  people  which  I  made,  — 
Tho'  Merlin  sware  that  I  should  come  again 
To  rule  once  more  — but  let  what  will  be,  be, 
I  am  so  deeply  smitten  thro'  the  helm 
That  without  help  I  cannot  last  till  morn. 
Thou  therefore  take  my  brand  Excalibur, 
Which  was  my  pride  ;  for  thou  rememberest 

how 
In  those  old  days,  one  summer  nooji,  an  arm 
Rose  up  from  out  the  bosom  of  ihe'lake. 
Clothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
Holding  the  sword  —  and  how  I  rowed  across 
And  took  it,  and  have  worn  it,  like  a  king : 
And,  wheresoever  I  am  sung  or  told 
In  aftertime,  this  also  shall  be  known : 
But  now  delay  not :  take  Excalibur, 
And  Hing  him  far  into  the  middle  mere  : 
Watch  vhat  thou  seSst,  and  lightly  bring  nw 
word." 
To  him  replied  the  bold  Sir  Bevidere : 
"  It  is  not  meet.  Sir  King,  to  leave  thee  thus, 
Aidless,  alone,  and  smitten  thro'  the  helm. 
A  little  thing  may  harm  a  wounded  man. 
Yet  I  thy  hest  will  all  perform  at  full, 


^OEMS. 


prick'dmyears; 
college  fame 
i;n  at  my  request 
little  urged, 
paragemeiit, 
iw  oes  and  aes, 
ihis  result. 


attle  roll'd 
winter  sea; 
an  by  man, 
their  Lord, 
his  wound  was 

d  him, 
s  knights, 
h  the  field, 
en  cross, 

barren  land, 
d  on  one 
3on  was  full. 

Sir  Bedivere : 
5rs  all 

nous  knights 
icord.    Such  a 

1.    I  think  that 

e  time, 

[nightly  deeds, 
d  the  halls 
t  were.  . 
;  made,  — 
lid  come  again 
tiat  will  be,  be, 
lie  helm 
t  till  morn. 
Excalibur, 
I  rememberest 

■  nooji,  an  arm 
f  the  lake, 
:,  wonderful, 
I  rowed  across 
like  a  kiug : 
rtold 
cnown : 
bur, 

lie  mere : 
htly  bring  ma 

levidere : 
ive  thee  thus, 
'  the  helm, 
ded  man. 
tfuU, 


MORTE  D' ARTHUR. 


39 


Watch  what  1  see,  and  lightly  bring  thee 

word." 
So  saying,  from  the  ruined  shrine  he  stept 
And  in  the  moon  athwart  the  place  of  tombs. 
Where  lay  the  inighty  bones  of  ancient  men. 
Old  knights,  and  over  them  the  sea-wind  sang 
Shrill,  chill,  with  flakes  of  foam.     He,  step- 
ping down 
By  zig-zag  paths,  md  juts  of  pointed  rock. 
Came  on  the  shining  levels  of  the  lake. 

There  drew  he  forth  the  brand  Excalibur, 
And  o'er  him,  drawing  it,  the  winter  moon. 
Brightening  the  skirts  of  a  long  cloud,  ran 

forth 
.And  sparkled  keen  with  frost  against  the  hilt : 
For  all  the  haft  twinkled  with  diamond  studs. 
Myriads  of  topaz-lights,  and  jacinth-work 
Of  subtlest  jewellery.     He  gazed  so  long 
Th.Ht  both  his  eyes  were  dazzled,  as  he  stood, 
This  way  and  that  dividing  the  swift  tqind. 
In  act  to  throw :  but  at  the  last  it  seem'd 
Better  to  leave  Excalibur  conceal'd 
There  in  the  many-knotted  waterflags. 
That  whistled  stiff  and  dry  ab     t  the  marge. 
So  strode  he  back  slov  '      '  i  wounded  king. 
Then  spake  King  /     '        i  Sir  Bedivere  : 
"  Hast  thou  perfornr  ilssion  which  I 

§ave  ? 
What  is   it  thou   hast  seen  or  what  hast 

heard?" 
And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  : 
"  I  heard  the  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds. 
And  the  wild  water  lapping  on  the  crag." 
To  whom  replied  King  Arthur,  faint  and 

pale ; 
"Thoii   hast  betray'd  thy  nature  and  thy 

nami. 
Not  rendering  true  answer,  as  beseem'd 
Thy  fealty,  nor  like  a  noble  knight : 
For  surer  sign  had  follow'd,  either  hand, 
Or  voice,  or  else  a  motion  of  the  mere. 
This  is  a  shameful  thing  for  men  to  lie. 
Yet  now,  I  charge  thee,  quickly  go  again 
As  thou  art  lief  and  dear,  and  do  the  thing 
I  bade  thee,  watch,  and  lightly  bring  me 

word." 
Then  went  Sir  Bedivere  the  second  time 
Across  the  ridge,  and  paced  beside  the  mere. 
Counting  the  dewy  pebbles,  fix'd  in  thought ; 
But  when  he  saw  the  wonder  of  the  hilt. 
How  curiour" '   and    strangely  chased,   he 

smote 
His  palms  together,  and  he  cried  aloud. 
"  And  if  indeed  I  cast  the  brand  away. 
Surely  a  precious  thing,  one  worthy  note, 
Should  thus  be  lost  forever  from  the  earth. 
Which  might  have  pleased  the  eyes  of  many 

men. 
What  good  should  follow  this,  if  this  were 

done  ? 
What  harm,  undone?  >'>ep  harm  to  disobey. 
Seeing  obedience  is  the  bond  of  rule. 
Were  it  well  to  obey  then,  if  a  king  demand 
An  act  unprofitable,  against  himself? 
The  King  is  sick,  and  knows  not  what  he  does. 
What  record,  or  what  relic  of  my  lord 
Should  be  to  aftertime,  but  empty  breath 
And  rumors  of  a  doubt?  but  were  this  kept. 


Stored  in   some  treasure-house  of  mighty 

kings. 
Some  one  might  show  it  at  a  joust  of  arms, 
Saying,  '  King  Arthur's  sword,  Excalibur, 
Wrought  by  the  lonely  maiden  of  the  Lake. 
Nine  years  she  wrought  it,  sitting  in  the  deeps 
Upon  the  hidden  bases  of  the  hills.' 
So  might  some  old  man  speak  in  the  aftertime 
To  all  the  people,  winning  reverence. 
But  now  much  honor  and  much  fame  were 

lost." 
So  spake  he,  clouded  with  his  own  conceit. 
And  hid  Excalibur  the  second  time, 
And  so  strode  back  slow  to  the  wounded 

King. 
Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  breathing  heav- 
ily : 
"What  is  It  thou  hast  seen?  or  what  hast 

heard?" 
And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  : 
"  I  heard  the  water  lapping  on  the  crag. 
And  the  long  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds." 
To  whom  replied  King  Arthur,  much  in 

wrath : 
"Ah,  miserable  and  unkind,  untrue, 
Unknightly,  traitor-hearted  1    Woe  is  me  ! 
Authority  forgets  a  dying  king. 
Laid  widow'd  of  the  power  in  his  eye 
That  bow'd  the  will.    I  see  thee  what  thou 

art. 
For  thou,  the  latest  left  of  all  my  knights. 
In  whom  should  meet  the  offices  of  all. 
Thou  wouldst  betray  me  for  the  precious  hilt ; 
Either  from  lust  of  gold,  or  like  a  girl 
Valuing  the  giddy  pleasure  of  the  eyes. 
Yet,  for  a  man  may  fail  in  duty  twice. 
And  the  third  time  may  prosper,  get  thee 

hence : 
But,  if  thou  spare  to  fling  Excalibur, 
I  will  arise  and  slay  tliee  with  my  hands." 
Then  quickly  rose  Sir  Bedivere,  and  ran. 
And,  leaping  down  the  ridges  lightly,  plunged 
Among  the  bulrush-beds,  and  clutch'd  the 

sword. 
And  strongly  wheel'd  and  threw  it.  The  great 

brand 
Made  lightnings  in  the  splendor  of  the  moon. 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whirl'd  in 

an  arch, 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  morn, 
Seen  where  the  moving  isles  of  winter  shock 
By  night,  with  noises  of  the  northern  sea. 
So  flash'd  and  fell  the  brand  Excalibur  : 
But  ere  he  dipt  the  surface,  rose  an  arm 
Cloth'd  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
And  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandish'd 

him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the  mere. 
And  lightly  went  the  other  to  the  King 
Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  drawing  thicker 

breath  : 
"  Now  see  I  by  thine  eyes  that  this  is  done. 
Speak  out :  what  is  it  thou  hast  heard,  cr 

seen?" 
And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere: 
"  Sir  King,  I  closed  mine  eyelids,  lest  th« 

gems 
Should  blind  my  purpose,  for  !  never  saw, 


4a 


MORTE  D'ARTHITR. 


W  i 


Nor  shall  see,  here  or  elsewhere,  till  I  die. 
Not  tho  I  hye  three  lives  cf  mortal  men. 
So  great  a  miracle  as  yonder  hilt. 
Ihen  with  both  hands  I     .ng  him,  wheeling 

him ;  " 

But  when  I  look'd  ugain,  behold  an  arm, 
L-lothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
i  hat  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandish'd 

him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the 

mere." 

And  answer  made  King  Arthur,  breathing 

hard :  " 

"  My  end.  draws  nigh ;  'tis  time  that  I  were 

gone. 
Make  broad  thy  shoulders  to  receive  my 

weight,  ' 

And  bear  me  to  the  margin  ;  yet  I  fear 
My  wound  hath  taken  cold,  and  I  shall  die." 
tjo  saying,  from  the  pavement  he  half  rose, 
Siow  •'.  witli  pain,  reclinit.    on  his  arm, 
And  looking  wistfully  with  wide  blue  eyes 
As  in  a  picture.    Him  Sir  Bedivere 
Remorsefullv  regarded  thro'  his  tears, 
And  would  have  spoken,  but  he  found  not 

words. 

Then  took  wjithcare,  and  kneelingbnoneknee, 
Uer  both  his  shoulders  drew  the  languid 

hands,  ° 

And  rising  bore  him  thro'  the  place  of  tombs. 
Hut,  as  he  walk'd,  King  Arthur  panted 
hard. 
Like  one  that  feels  a  nightmare  on  his  bed 
When  all  the  house  is  mute.     So  sigh'd  the 

King, 
Muttering  and  murmuring  at  his  ear  "  Quick, 

quick  I 
I  fear  it  is  too  late,  and  I  shall  die." 
But  the  other  swiftly  strode  from  ridge  to 

ridge,  " 

Clothed  with  his  breah,  and  looking,  as  he 

walk'd, 
Larger  than  human  on  the  frozen  hills 
He  heard  the  deep  behind  him,  and  a  cry 
Before.    His  own  thought  drove  him  like  a 

goad. 
Dry  clash'd  his  harness  in  the  icy  caves 
And  barren  chasms,  and  all  to  left  and  right 
The  bare  black  cliff  clang'd  round  him,  as  he 

based 
His  feet  on  juts  of  slippery  crag  that  rang 
bliarp-smitten  with  tiie  dint  of  armed  beds  — 
And  on  a  sudden,  lo  1  the  level  lake, 
And  the  long  glories  of  the  winter  moon. 
lUen  saw  they  how  there  hove  a  dusky 
barge, 
Dark  as  a  funeral  scarf  from  stem  lo  s.teni, 
Beneath  them ;   and  descending  they  were 

ware 
That  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately 

forms 
Black-stoled,  black-hooded,  like  a  dream  — 

Three  Queens  with  crowns  ot' gold  — and 

from  them  rose 
A  cry  that  shiver'd  to  the  tingling  stars, 
And,  as  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 
Uf  lamentation,  like  a  wind,  that  shrills 


All  night  in  a  waste  land,  where  no  oneCoMefc 

Ur  hath  come,  since  the  makingof  the  world 

Ihen  murmur'd  Arthur,  "  Plac*  me  in  th« 

barge," 

And  to  the  barge  they  came.    There  those 

three  Queens 
Put  forth  their  hands,  and  took  tho  King, 
and  wept.  " 

But  she  that  rose  the  tallest  of  them  aU 
And  fairest,  laid  his  head  upon  her  lap. 
And  loosed  the  shatter'd  casque,  and  chafed 

his  hands, 
And  call'd  him  by  his  name.compiaining  loud. 
And  dropping  bitter  fears  against  his  brow 
btriped  with  dark  blood :  for  all  his  face  was 

white 
And  colorless,  and  like  the  wither'd  moon 
braote  by  the  fresh  beam  of  the  springing 

east  I 
And  al!  his  greaves  and  cuisses  dash'd  with 

drops 
Of  onset ;  and  the  light  and  lustrous  curls  — 
1  hat  made  his  forehead  like  a  rising  sun 
High  from  the  dais-throne  —  were  parch'd 

with  dust ; 
?/•  ,S'°'t^.^  '"'°  po\nts  and  hanging  loosft. 
Mix  d  vyith  the  knightly  growth  that  fringed 

his  lips. 
So  like  a  shatter'd  column  lay  the  King ; 
Not  like  that  Arthur  who,  with  lance  in  rest. 
From  spur  to  plume  a  star  of  tournament. 
Shot  thro'  the  lists  at  Camelot,  and  charged 
Before  the  eyes  of  ladies  and  of  kings. 

Then  loudly  cried  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere, 
„A»  •'  "7  Lo""^  Arthur,  whither  shall  I  go? 
Where  shall  I   hide  n-y  forehead  and  my 

eyes? 
For  now  I  see  the  true  old  times  are  dead, 
When  every  morning  brought  a  noble  chance, 
And  every  chance  brought  out  a  noble  knight, 
buch  tunes  have  been  not  since  the  light  hath 

led 
The  holy  Elde.s  with  the  gift  of  myrrh. 
But  now  the  whole  round  table  is  dissolved 
Which  was  an  image  of  the  mighty  woiV, ; 
And  I,  the  last,  go  forth  companionless, 
And  the  days  darken  round  me,  and  the  years, 
i^mong  new  men,  strange  faces,  other  minds." 
And   slowly   answered  Arthur  from    the 
barge  ; 
"The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to 

new, 
And  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways. 
Lest  one  pood  Custom  should  corrupt  the 

world. 
Comfort  thyself:  what  comfort  is  in  me? 
I  have  lived  my  life,  and  that  which  I  have 

done 
May  He  within  himself  make  pure  1  but  thov, 
If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again. 
Pray  for  my  soul.     More  things  are  wrought 
,„,       °y.  P"ayer  ^ 

1  nan  tins  world  dreams  of.    Wherefore,  t«t 

thy  voice 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  gdau 
1  hat  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain. 
If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prmyer 


TttE  cardemer's  Daughter. 


e  no  one  Comei, 
ng  of  the  world. 
Place  nie  in  the 

There  those 

took  the  King, 

)f  them  all 
n  her  lap, 
lue,  and  chafed 

Tiplainingloud, 
inst  his  brow 
all  his  face  was 

ther'd  moon 
the  springing 

es  dash'd  with 

istrous  curls  — 
rising  sun 
were  parch'd 

langing  loose, 
:h  that  fringed 

the  King ; 
t  lance  in  rest, 
ournament, 
,  and  charged 
f  kings. 
'\x  Bedivere, 
;r  shall  I  go .'' 
lead  and  my 

:s  are  dead, 
noble  chance, 
noble  knight, 
the  light  hath 

r  myrrh. 

H  is  dissolved 

hty  worlt^, ; 

nionless, 

md  the  years, 

Jthermmds." 

ir  from    the 

ling  place  to 

ways, 
corrupt  lh« 

s  in  me? 
trhich  I  have 

'e  I  but  thov, 
ce  again, 
are  wrought 

herefor«,  iM 

and  day. 
eep  or  goata 
he  brain, 
idsofprtyer 


Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them 

friend  ? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 
But  now  farewell.     I  am  going  a  long  way 
With  these  thou  seest  —  if  indeed  I  go  — 
(For  all  my  mind  is  clouded  with  a  doubt) 
To  the  island-valley  of  Avilion  ; 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow. 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly  ;  but  it  lies 
Deep-meadow'J,  happy,  fair  with  orchard- 
lawns 
And  boA'ery  hollows  crown'd  with  summer 

sea. 
Where  I  will  heal  me  of  my  grievous  wound." 
So  said  he,  and  the  barge  with  oar  and  sail 
Moved  from  the  brink,  like  some  full-breasted 

swan  — 
That,  fluting  a  wild  carol  ere  her  death. 
Ruffles  her  pure  cold  plume,  and  takes  the 

flood 
With  swarthy  webs.  Long  stood  Sir  Bedivere 
Revolving  many  memories,  till  the  hull 
Look'd  one  black  dot  against  the  verge  of 

dawn, 
And  on  the  mere  the  wailing  died  away. 

Here  ended  Hall,  and  our  last  light,  that 

long 
Had  wink'd  and  threaten'd  darkness,  flared  i 

and  fell :  | 

At  which  the  Parson,   sent  to   sleep  with  I 

sound,  I 

And  waked  with  silence,  grunted  "  Good  !  "  ! 

but  we  i 

Sat  rapt :  it  was  the  tone  with  which  he  read  —  I 
Perhaps  some  modern  touches  heie  and  there  I 
Redeem'd  it  from   the  charge  of  nothing-  ' 

ness  — 
Or  else  we  loved  the  man,  and  prized  his 

work; 
I  know  not :  but  we  sitting,  as  I  said. 
The  cock  crew  loud  ;  as  at  that  time  of  year 
The  lusty  bird  takes  every  hour  for  dawn  : 
Then  Francis,  muttering,  like  a  man  ill-used, 
1  here  now—  that 's  nothing  1 "  drew  a  little 

back, 
And  drove  his  heel  into  the  smoulder'd  log. 
That  sent  a  blast  of  sparkles  up  the  flue  : 
And  so  to  bed  ;  where  yet  in  sleep  I  seem'd 
lo  sail  with  Arthur  under  'ooming  shores. 
Point  after  point;   till  on  to  dawn,  when 

dreams 
Begin  to  feel  the  truth  and  stir  of  day. 
To  me,  methought,  who  waited  with  a  crowd, 
Inere  came  a  bark  that,  blowing  forward, 

bore 
King  Arthur,  like  a  modern  gentleman 
Of  stateliest  port ;  and  all  the  people  cried, 

Arthur  is  come  again  :  he  cannot  die." 
Then  those  that  stood  upon  the  hills  behind 
Repeated  —  "  Come    again,    and    thrice  as 

fair  "  ; 
And,  further  inland,  voices  echoed  —  "  Come 
With  all  good  things,  and  war  shall  be  no 

more." 
At  this  a  hundred  bells  began  to  peal, 


41 

That  with  the  sound  I  woke,  and  heard  in- 
deed 

The  clear  church -bells  ring  in  the  Christmas 
mom. 


THE  GARDENER'S   DAUGHTER  ; 
OR,  THE  PICTURES. 

This  morning  is  the  morning  of  the  day, 
AVhen  I  and  Eustace  from  the  city  went 
To  see  the  Gardener's  Daughter  ;  I  and  he. 
Brothers  in  Art ;  a  friendship  so  complete 
Portion'd  in  halves  between  us,  that  we  grew 
The  fable  of  the  city  where  we  dwelt. 

My  Eustace  might  have  sat  for  Hercules ; 
So  muscular  he  spread,  so  broad  of  breast. 
He,  by  some  kw  that  holds  in  love,  and  draws 
The  greater  to  the  lesser,  long  desire^ 
A  certain  miracle  of  symmetry, 
A  miniature  of  loveliness,  all  grace 
Summ'd  up  and  closed  in  little  ;  —  Juliet,  she 
So  light  of  foot,  so  light  of  spirit  — oh,  she 
To  me  myself,  for  some  three  careless  moons. 
The  summer  pilot  of  an  empty  heart 
Unto  the  shores  of  nothing  1  Know  you  not 
Such  touches  are  but  embassies  of  love, 
To  tamper  with  the  feelings,  ere  he  found' 
Empire  for  life.'  but  Eustace  painted  her, 
And  said  to  me,  she  sitting  with  us  then, 
i  "  When  will  you  paint  like  this?"  and  I  re- 
I  plied, 

t  (My  words  were  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,) 
"  'T  is  not  your  work,  but  Love's.    Love, 

unperceived, 
A  more  ideal  Artist  he  than  all. 
Came,  drew  your  pencil  from  you,  made  those 

eyes 
Darker  than  darkest  pansies,  and  that  hair 
More  black  than  ashbuds  in  the  front  of 

March." 
And  Juliet  answer'd  laughing,  "Go  and  see 
The  Gardener's  daughter:  trust  me,  after 

that. 
You  scarce  can  fail  to  match  his  masterpiece." 
And  up  we  rose,  and  on  the  spur  we  went. 
Not  wholly  in  the  busy  world,  nor  quite 
Beyond  it,  blooms  the  garden  that  I  love. 
News  from  the  humming  city  comes  to  it 
In  sound  of  funei.-il  or  of  marriage  bells  ; 
And,  sitting  muffled  in  dark  leaves,  you  hear 
The  windy  clanging  of  the  minster  clock  ; 
Although  between  it  and  the  garden  lies 
A  league  of  grass,  wash'd  by  a  slow  broad 

stream. 
That,  stirr'd  with  languid  pulses  of  the  oar. 
Waves  all  its  lazy  lilies,  and  creeps  on, 
Barge-laden,  to  three  arches  of  a  bridge 
Crown'd  with  the  minster  towers. 

The  fields  between 
Are  dewy-lresh,  browsed  by  deep-udder'd 

kine. 
And  all  about  the  large  lime  feathers  low. 
The  lime  a  summer  home  of  murmurous 
wings. 
In  that  still  place  she,  hoarded  in  herself. 
Grew,  seldom  seen  :  not  less  among  us  lived 
Her  fame  from  lip  to  lip.    Who  had  not  heard 


4* 


fhi 


Of  Rose,  ihe  Gardener's  daughter  ?    Where 

was  hCi 
So  blunt  in  memory,  so  old  at  heart. 
A  such  a  distance  from  his  youth  in  grief 

urew  oratory.     Such  a  lord  is  Love, 

And  i?"/^  '"/V  "li""'"*  °'''he  world. 
And  ,f  I  said  that  Fancy,  led  by  Love 

Yet  this  IS  also  true.  that,  long  before 

Mvt^rt"^;^  v'J'  ^''^'"  J  ^'^''^  her  nam. 
^i>  heart  was  like  a  prophet  to  mv  heart 

And  told  me  I  should  love.  A  cro7d  of  hopes 
seeds    '°  '""^  themselves  like  winged 

Fhm.°rM  "'■'everything  I  heard  and  saw, 

F  utter  d  a-)ou  my  senses  and  my  soul ;         ' 

And  vague  desires,  like  fitful  blasts  of  balm 

Of  ?',T.'^Y-  '-"^"'^  ''"''^'^'y-  '"ade  the  air 
Of  Life  delicious,  and  all  kinds  of  thought 
1  hat  verged  upon  them,   sweeter   than^  the 

Dream'd  by  a  happy  man,  when  the  dark 

liast. 
Unseen,  is  brightening  to  his  bridal  morn 

Frer;riSte''ryt--°-=- 

Smelt  of  the  coming  s''ummer?:'s"1,n"'"a'rge 
Drew  downward  ;  but  all  else  of  Heaven  was 

AnAi'^  Sun,  and  May  from  verge  to  verge 
And  May  with  me  from  head  to  Keel     And 

now,  "" 

As  tho'  't  were  vesferday,  as  tho'  it  were 
The  hour  just  flown,  that  morn  with  all  its 

sound, 

^^°'  te?*^  ^^^^'^  ^^^  "'"'"  ^^^  ''^e  o*" 
Rings  ^fn^njine  ears.    The  steer  forgot  to 

^'"^'  tooi!^^  hedge-row  cuts  the  pathway, 

Leaning  his'horns  into  the  neighbor  field 
And  lowing  to  nis  fellows.     From  the  wood. 
Came  voices  of  the  well-contentTd  dov"s 
Ihe  lark  could  scarce  get  out  his  noles  for 

His  fcVh'  ^'^"g  *°ge«her  as  he  near'd 

rfg'ln,     *""'  ^^  ^'■°""^-    "1°  '^'■'  and 

The  Zn"""  '"'''  !">  "^'"«  *°  =«"  'he  hills  ; 
1  he  mellow  ouze  fluted  in  the  elm  ;         ' 

Ihe  redcap  whistled  ;  and  the  nightineale 
m°l^'  ?'  "'"'  ''^  ^^^--^  «he  bird  of  dav 
m^,"     "  '"■■"  '^'  ^"'^  "'"'""S  said  to 
"Hear  how  the  bushes  echo  I  by  my  life 
These  birds  have  joyful  thoueLr   Think 
you  they  sing  "  -i-iuK. 

nI-if,P''^u'  '"'■""^  *he  vanity  of  song? 
Or  have  they  any  sense  of  why  they  sing  ? 


T//E   GARDE NER\';  DAUGHTER. 


And  I^made  answer.  "Were  ther.  nothing 
For  whi-ch  to  praise  the  heavens  but  only 
That  only  love  were  cause  enough  for  praise  " 

'^'''lilLS.t'^"^'"'^' ---'»' -d^-y 

vve  reach  da  meadow  slanting  to  the  North  • 
Down  which  a  well-worn  pathway  courted  us 
Jo  one.green  wicket  in  a  privet Ldge 
1  his,  yielding  cave  into  a  grassy  wafk  ' 

Ind^nnT'''^  hlac-ambusf  trinflv  J  uned  • 
And  one  warm  gust,  full-fed  with  ^-erfum^, 

T^rJI'^i"'-  ^^  we  enter'd  in  the  cool. 
Vceda  snr.'i!;"/^'^?  southward.  In  the  midst 
a  cedar  spread  his  d.irk-green  layers  of  shaH^ 

The  fwSh"^'^'^  r"°'^^'  a"d  -omently 
Ihe  twinkling  laurel  scattered  .ilver  lights. 

tat.sJ.""'''''''"^*°"'^-''-P« 
He  nodded  but  a  moment  afterwards 

Ttu  nM  "''  '  '""'^  •  "    ^^'■°^«  he  ceased 
1  turn  d, 

Fdr^nn^h"'■  ""  "■■"'^'  beheld  her  there, 
rose        "^  ^'^^  ^"  Eastern 

'"'''  haTca'St.''^'-  '"  ^^^'  "■^'^''^  e^'e 
And  blown  across  the  walk.    Or,  j  arm  aloft  - 
sliape-""'  ^^''^'  "'=''  fitte™  to  the 
Holding  the  bush,  to  fix  it  back,  she  stood 
A  single  stream  of  all  her  soft  brown  lafr 

Stole  an  Ih^r  "^t  •■  ''1^  ^'^''''°^^  °f  'h"  flowers 
stole  a  I  the  golden  gloss,  and,  waverine 

Ar'hfL^  )°\er,  trembled  on  her  wa'st  i 
''aPPy  shade -and  still  went  wavering 

^"''  Tancei"'"'"'''  '  ^°°*'  '^^'  ""'g''*  ^ave 
An^  g'eensward  info  greener  circles,  dint. 

^"'  ^''sunn'd  ''"^  '''"'''  °"  '""  '''°«'S'  a"d 

?^I  j'°  u?  7,^?'  and  all  her  Hebe-bloom 
And  doubled  his  own  warmth  against  heHips  ' 
And  on  the  bounteous  wave  ors-jch  a  breasi 

She"st';fo?'."'-\tf  "•    f^^'^''^"^'-  ''alf  Se 
So  l?n1'     "^'''  '°,"i?'<e  an  old  man  young 

Rose      ""  ^"^*  '■  ''"'  s''^'  a 

In  roses,  mingled  with  her  fragrant  toil. 
Nor  hea^rd^us  come,  nor  from  her  tendance 

Into  the  world  without ;  till  close  at  hand. 
And  almost  ere  I  knew  mine  own  in  ent 

WhiclTbrnoH  Y^^  'he  Stillness  of  that  'air 
wnicii  brooded  round  about  her : 

wTreToV,'irLt^'^!,^C?^'«'"«"^- 
St:ffused^^with    blushesl'lfelff'LS^lo^il 


re  ther«  nothing 

leavens  but  only 

oiigh  for  praise." 
le  that  read  my 

hour  had  pass'd, 
iiR  to  the  North  ; 
hway  courted  us 
ivet  hedge  ; 
rassy  walk 
trimlv  pruned  ; 
1  witii  perfume, 

the  cool, 
ird.  In  the  midst 
1  layers  of  shade, 
id  momently 
i  silver  lights. 
wonder  keeps 

lerwards 
■efore  he  ceased 

leld  her  there. 
ew  an  Eastern 

5t  night's  gale 

!r,  J  arm  aloft  — 
fitted  to  the 

:k,  she  stood, 
brown  hair 
i  of  the  flowers 
,  wavering 
er  waist  — 
vent  wavering 

It  might  have 

ircles,  dipt, 
the  common 

r  brows,  and 

be-bloom, 
ainst  her  lips, 
s-jch  a  breast 
It,  half  shade, 
i  man  young. 
;  but  she,  a 

ant  toil, 
ler  tendance 

e  at  hand, 
n  intent, 
of  that  air 

ih,  one  rose, 
ngersculi'd,' 
ess'd  on  lips 

k'd:  but  all 
'■r    self-pos- 


Nor  startled,  but  betwixt  this  mood  and  that. 
Divided  in  a  graceful  quiet  — paused, 
And  dropt  the  branch  she  held,  and  turninc 
wound  ^ 

Her  looser  hair  in  braid,  and  stirr'd  her  lips 
!•  or  some  .sweet  answer,  tho'  no  answer  came. 
Nor  yet  refused  the  rose,  but  granted  it. 
And  moved  away,  and  loft  me,  statue-like. 
In  act  to  render  thanks. 

e       .  I>  that  whole  day, 

baw  her  no  more,  altho'  I  linger'd  there 
liU  every  daisy  .slept,  and  Love's  white  star 
Heain  d  thro'  the  thicken'd  cedar  in  the  dusk, 
bo  home  we  went,  and  ^11  the  livelo.ig  way 
With  so  em.  gibe  did  Eustace  banter  me. 
Now     said  he,  "will  you  climb  the  top  of 
Art. 
You  cannot  fail  but  work  in  hues  to  dim 
The  -1  itianic  Flora.    Will  you  match 
My  Juliet.'    you,   not  you,  — the   Master, 
Love,  ' 

A  more  ideal  Artist  he  than  all." 

So  home  1  went,  but  could  not  sleep  for  joy, 
Reading  her  perfect  features  in  the  gloom. 
Kissing  the  rose  she  gave  me  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  shapmg  faithful  record  of  the  glance 
lliat  graced  the  giving -such  a  noise  of  life 
rl'n.T.     '"  r'*  eolden  present,  such  a  voice 
call  d  to  me  from  the  years  to  come,  and  such 
A  length  of  bright  horizon  rimm'd  t',?  dark. 
And  all  that  night  I  heard  the  watchmen  penl 
Ihe  sliding  season  :  all  that  night  I  heard 
Ihe  heavy  clocks  knolling  the  drowsy  hours. 
Ihe  drowsy  hours,  dispensers  of  all  good, 
O  er  the  mute  city  stole  with  folded  wings, 
IJistilling  odors  on  me  as  they  went 
lo  greet  their  fairer  sisters  of  the  East 
»T  i"^^.^'  '''■?*  sight,  first-born,  and  heir  to  all. 
Made  this  night  thus.     Henceforward  squal 

nor  storm 
Could  keep  me  from  that  Eden  where  she 
dwelt. 

Light  pretexts  drew  me :  sometimes  a  Dutch 

love 
For  tulips ;  then  for  roses,  moss  or  musk, 
lo  grace  my  city-rooms  :  or  fruits  and  cream 
Served  in  the  weeping  elm ;  and  more  and 

more 
A  word  could  bring  the  color  to  my  cheek  • 

dew-"""  ""^  ''y"  ^'"'*  ^^PVy 

Love  trebled  life  within  me,  and  with  each 
•I  he  year  increased. 

,\        r  ^^^  daughters  of  the  vear 

Schl'r'l""^'  ♦'^'■?Vhatsfill  garden  paL'd": 
Each  garlanded  with  her  peculiar  flovver 
Danced  into  light,  and  died  into  the  shade  ; 
And  each  m  passing  touch'd  with  some  new 

grace 

?fu!f  ^""'l'"  '°"*=''  ''^'■-  s"  tfi'-"  day  by  day, 
Like  one  that  never  can  be  wholly  known. 
ne.  „Miuy  grew;   till  Autumn  brought  an 

R?rJi"^i^f.^'  wl'e"  Iheard  his  deep  "I  will." 
wreathed,  like  the  covenant  of  a  God,  to  hold 
*rom  thence  thro'  all  the  worlds :  but  1  rose 

Full  of  his  bliss,  and  following  her  dark  eyes 


T//£  GARDENER'S  DAUGHTER. 


43 

Felt  earth  as  air  beneath  me,  till  I  reach'd 
Ihe  wicket-gate,   and   found  her  standing 
there. 
There  sat  we  down  upon  a  garden  mound. 
Two  mutually  enfolded  ;  Love,  the  third. 
Between  us,  in  the  circle  of  his  arms 
Enwound  us  both  ;  and  over  many  a  range 
Of  waning  lime  the  gray  cathedral  towers, 
Across  a  hazy  glimmer  of  the  west, 
Keveald  their  shining  windows:  from  them 

clash  d 
The  bells;    we  Hsten'd;    with  the   time  v.e 

play'd ; 
We  spoke  of  other  things  ;  we  coursed  about 
Ihe  subject  most  at  heart,   more  near  and 

near. 
Like  doves  about  a  dovecote,  wheelint?  round 
Ihe  central  wish,  until  we  settled  there 
1  hen,  in  that  time  and  place,  1  spoke  to 
her,  '^ 

Requiring,  tho'  I  knew  it  was  mine  own, 
Vet  for  the  pleasure  that  £  took  to  hear. 
Requiring  at  her  hand  the  greatest  gift, 
A  woman's  heart,  the  heart  of  her  I  loved  ; 
•^.nd  in  that  time  and  place  she  answer'd  me, 
And  in  the  compass  of  three  little  words, 
More  musical  than  ever  came  in  one, 
J'he  silver  fragments  of  a  broken  voice. 
Made   me   most   happy,    faltering    "I    am 
thine." 
Shall  I  cease  here .'    Is  this  enough  to  say 
that  my  desire,  like  all  strongest  hopes. 
By  its  own  energy  fulfill'd  itself, 
Merged  in  completion  ?    Would  you  learn  at 

full 
How  passion  rose  thro'  circumstantial  grades 
Beyond  all  grades  develop'd  ?  and  indeed 
J  had  not  stayed  so  long  to  tell  you  all, 
But  while  I  mused  came  Memory  with  sad 

eves. 
Holding  the  folded  annals  of  my  vouth  ; 
And  while  I  mused,  Love  with  knit  brows 

went  by, 
And  with  a  flying  finger  swept  my  lips. 
And  spake,  "  Be  wise  :  not  easily  forgiven 
Are  those,  who,  setting  wide  the  doors  that 

bar 
The  secret  bridal  chambers  of  the  hearf 
Let  m  the  day."  Here,  then,  my  words  have 
end. 
Yet  might  I  tell  of  meetings,  of  farewells  — 
Of  that  which  came  between,  more  swpet 

than  each, 
In  whispers,  like  the  whispers  of  the  leaves 
I  hat  tremble  round  a  nightingale -in  sighs 
Winch  perfect  Joy,  perplex'd  for  utterance, 
Stole  from  her  sister  Sorrow.  Might  1  not  tell 
Ol  ditference,  reconcilement,  pledges  given 
And  vows,  where  there  was  never  need  of 

vows. 
And  kis.ses,  where  the  heart  on  one  wild  lean 
Hung  tranced  trom  all  pulsation,  as  above 
Ihe  heaven.--,  between  their  fairy  fleeces  pale 
Sow  dall  theirmystu  gulfs  with  fleeting  stars; 
Or  while  the  balmy  glooming,  crescent-lit, 
opread  the  ight  haze  along  the  river-.hore*. 
And  m  the  hollows  ;  or  as  or.xe  we  met 
Unheedful,  tho'  beneath  a  whispering  rain 


44 


^''''"Sf°*"°"''  ^°"«  "'"*"  of  sighing 
'^Ri-hv  ■■  V?'"J'°''«  »''«  I'^by,  Sleep. 

""  '''holds ''**  P'""'-«-^«i''d.  for  what  it 
This  prdude  has  prepared  thee.    Raise^thy 
Make  thine  heart  ready  with  thine  eyes ;  the  j 
Is  come  to  raise  the  veil. 

Th^.  l!i-  "^^^  'r""^'  "'^  ''J°'  "f  my  youth. 
J^ow  the  most  blessed  memory  of  mine  age. 


DORA. 


Then,  when  the  bells  were  ringing,  Allan 


DORA. 


Allan  at  the  farm  abode 
)ora.    William  was  his  son, 

ght     I'll  make  them  man  and 


With  farm 
William  ai 
And  she  l; 
And  often  . 
wife. 
Now  Dora  felt  her  uncle's  will  in  all 

'  "bSir  "'^  ™'''"'  ■•  ^" '^^  youth. 

?hoSttt"o^f'E."'"^  ^"  -  '•^^  '-"-. 

When  Allan  cairdhJtVtl?a*li:?.fe 
I  married  late,  but  I  would  wish  to  see 
A^fl"^t}^^  °"  r  ^""''^  before  fdie : 
Now  thpr^?„'^','"y  '''^^'  "P°n  "^  "'atch. 
To  wh'^'^t  .?.?.'' A°  Dora;  she  is  well 


His  niece  and  said  :  "  Mv  elrl  I  Ir.«. .. 

gut  if  you  speak  with  hrnfiVrs^nyr^J^ 
Or  change  a  word  with  her  he  calls  his  wife 
My  home  is  none  of  yours.    My  win  U  llw  •' 

y    JiSghr"'"''   '^*'"e    '^-k^    Sh« 
"  An^"J'°'  ''^•'"^  ""^'«'«  mind  will  chanee  l" 

To  Willfa'm'^Thr;,?'!'^  "'"^  "'"  ^orn  a^boy 
1  o  wiinam  .then  distresses  came  on  Km  ■ 
And  day  by  day  l,e  pass'd  his  fet!,e?'s  cTt'e 
Heart-broken,  and  his  father  help'd  1  iS' 
A."d^er1  T\t  ^'1?'  '""V^'>'=  ""Id  s'l^ve?  ' 
know  ^^  ''"'^'''  "°^  '^''1  they 

OnwT  ''  '■  "!l  ?'  '^^t  ^  f^^er  seized 

Th^n"n"''  ^"'^ '"  ''="'^"'  •i'^e  'e  died. 
1  hen  Dora  went  to  Mary.     Ma  v  sat 

'  's:;'ghr''  '"--^  "p*'" "« ^"v;  and 

""■"f  htP^^  ^''"-    ^"'■^  '^^•"e  and  said  : 
AnH  T  K^  obey'd  mv  uncle  until  now, 
And  I  have  sinn'd,  f^r  it  was  all  thro'  ne 
T    s  evil  came  on  William  at  the  first. 
But,  Mary,  for  the  sake  of  him  that 's  gone. 

And  for'  r/  '"  ."•  '^1  "•'""«"  ">«'  ^^  ^I'^Be, 
And  for  this  .    phan,  I  am  come  to  you  : 

And  I  will  set  him  in  my  uncle's  eve 

OflKn^'"''"^'  '■  ','''''*  ^^^"^  l^is  heart  is  glad 
AnH  hi     '  u^'^'^?''  ''f  ""^y  ''^  »he  boy,  ^ 
And  b^ess  him  for  the  sake  of  him  that  s 


1>  look  to :  thriftpooTeTond  iTera^e" 


one  IS  my  „,„i„t,  ^  uitugnier:  he  anH  T 
Had  once  hard  words,  and  parted  and  he  died 
I.)  foreign  lands  ;  but  for  his  sake  I  bred 
His  daughter  Dora;  take  her  for  your  wife  • 
For  1  J^^ave  w.sh'd  this  marriagefnighTand 

y  Toir^"-"    ^"'  ^'"'^™  ^"S'""'d 
"  I  cannot  marry  Dora ;  by  my  life 
I  will  not  marry  Dora."    'ken  he  old  man 
Was  wroth,  and  doubled  up  his  hands.  Id 

n»t°t  *"'  r"''  ^°l '  y°"  dare  to  answerthus  I 
AndT^"^.^  l'";f  t  '^"^^'■'^  ^°^d  was  law 
And  so  It  shall  be  now  for  me.     Look  to  it  • 

Ana  let  me  have  an  answer  to  m v  wish  • 
Or.  by  the  Lord  that  made  me.  you  shi  I  pack 

B.U  WM' ■■  ""'^  ''^^'^^n  ""y  doors  aga  n  "    ' 
?"t  ^''  'am  answer'd  madly;  bit  hfs  L 

The  tfV'^f^l  J^^^  ""^^^  he  look'd  a^'Aer 

harsh'    ^^''^  ^^'''  '"^  '''^  *«y^  ^"'« 

But  Dora  bore  thBm  mopUK.      T^-      '     r 

a  CA^"  T '- '«ft  ^rsVather's  h^ol^! 
Anrf  hiir  •^■mself  to  work  within  the  fieldT^ 


A^^i  ^"""^  °°''  *''''  '='»ld,  and  went  her  way 
Across  the  wheat,  and  sat  upon  a  mound 

F.r  Iff  tf  "  r'"""'"'  ''■''"«  many  poppies  grew. 
Far  off  the  farmer  came  into  the  field 

n,    ?n1  •''^'■r!^°'  =  fo""  "0"e  of  all  his  men 
AnMr.  „      m"!;"  '^'"^^''  ^"h  the  child ; 
And  Dora  would  have  risen  and  gone  to  him 
But  her^heart  fail'd  her;  and 'the  reapers 

Ai   i  the  sun  fell,  and  all  the  land  was  dark 
t'^  morrow  came,  she  rose  and 

The  cliild  once  more,  and  sat  upon  the  mound: 
And  made  a  little  wreath  of  all  the  flowers 
Ihat  grew  about,  and  tied  it  round  his  hat 
lo  make  him  pleasing  in  her  uncle's  eye. 
1  hen  when  the  farmer  pass'd  into  the  field 
He  spied  her  and  he  left  his  men  at  work, 

t^rda*"?     '• "  ^^""^  *"^  y^"  y«- 

^''"lere  P*^"'"  *''^' '    ^''^*  '"^  y°"  ''"ms 
So  Dora  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  ground, 

vtui'^'"^  ^  not,"  said  Allan,  "did  I  not 
Forbid  you.  Dora  ?  "    Dora  Ljid  agsi n. 

A^d  Mi!"."i'^*V°",'^'"'  hut  take  the  child 
gone  r™   "  "'^  ^''^^  °^  '»''»  that '. 
And  Allan  said,  "  I  see  it  is  a  trick 
Got  up  betWixt  you  and  the  woman  there. 


Each 


e  ringing,  Allan 

,  I  love  you  well; 
'at  was  my  son, 
le  calls  his  wife, 
My  will  is  law." 
g    meek.      She 

id  will  change  I" 
:  was  born  a  boy 
came  on  hjin ; 
is  father's  gate, 
help'd  him  not, 
le  could  save, 
I,  nor  did  they 

er  seized 
me  'le  died. 

Ma  y  sat 

her  boy,  and 

ame  and  said : 
itil  now, 
ill  thro'  ne 
the  first. 
1  that 's  gone, 
that  he  chose, 
e  to  you : 
for  these  fi/a 

the  boy, 
's  eye 

is  heart  is  glad 

the  boy, 

f  him  that  s 

went  her  way 
a  mound 
poppies  grew. 
;  field 
all  his  men 
the  child  ; 
gone  to  him, 
the  reapers 

d  was  dark, 
■he  rose  and 

1  the  mound; 
he  flowers 
ad  his  hat 
:!e's  eye. 
o  the  field 
n  at  work, 
5re  you  yes- 

B  you  doing 

round, 
William's 

id  I  not 
sgajn, 
:e  the  child 
bim  that 's 

k 

n  there. 


AUDLEY  COURT. 


Ai 


I  must  be  taught  my  duty,  and  by  you  I 
You  knew  my  word  was  law,  and  yet  you 

dared 

To  slight  it.    Well  —  for  I  will  take  the  boy  ; 

But  go  you  hence,  and  never  see  me  more." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  boy,  that  cried  aloud 

And  struggled  hard.    The  wreath  of  flowers 

fell 
At  Dora's  feet.     She  bow'd  upon  her  hands, 
And  the  boy's  cry  came  to  her  from  the  field, 
More  and  more  distant.     She  bow'd  down 

her  head. 
Remembering  the  day  when  first  she  came. 
And   all    the   things  that  had  been.     She 

bow'd  down 
And  wept  in  secret ;  and  the  reapers  reap'd, 
And  the  sun  fell,  and  all  the  land  was  dark. 
Then  Dora  went  to  Mary's  house,  and 
6tood 
Upon  the  threshold.     Mary  saw  the  boy 
Was  not  with  Dora.    She  broke  out  in  praise 
To  God,  that  help'd  her  in  her  widowhood. 
And  Dora  said,  "  My  uncle  took  the  boy  ; 
But,  Mary,  let  me  live  and  work  with  you  : 
He  says  that  he  will  never  see  me  more." 
Then  answ*r'd  Mary,  "  This  shall  never  be, 
That  thou  shouldst  take  my  trouble  on  thy- 
self: 
And,  now  I  think,  he  shall  not  have  the  boy. 
For  he  will  teach  him  hardness,  and  to  slight 
His  mother  ;  therefore  thou  and  I  will  go 
And  I  will  have  my  boy,  and  bring  him  home ; 
And  I  will  beg  of  him  to  take  thee  back  ; 
But  if  he  will  not  take  thee  back  again. 
Then  thou  and  I  will  live  within  one  house,  ' 
And  work  for  William's  child,  until  he  grows 
Of  age  to  help  us." 

So  the  women  kiss'd 
Each  other,  and  set  out,  and  reach'd  the 

farm. 
The  door  was  off  the  latch :  they  peep'd,  and 

saw 
The  boy  set  up  betwixt  his  grandsire's  knees, 
Who  thrust  him  in  the  hollows  of  his  arm, 
And  clapt  him  on  the  hands  and  on  the  cheeks, 
Like  one    that   loved   him ;    and   the    lad 

stretch'd  out 
And  babbled  for  the  golden  seal,  that  hung 
From  Allan's  watch,  and  sparkled  by  the 

fire. 
Then    they  came  in:   but  when   the    boy 

beheld 
His  mother,  he  cried  out  to  come  to  her  : 
And  Allan  set  him  down,  and  Mary  said  : 

"  O  Father—  if  you  let  me  call  you  so  — 
I  never  came  a-begging  for  myself. 
Or  William,  or  this  child ;  but  now  I  come 
For  Dora:   take  her  back;   she  loves  you 
well. 

0  Sir,  when  William  died,  he  died  at  peace 
With  all  men  ;  for  I  ask'd  him,  and  he  said. 
He  could  not  ever  rue  his  marrying  me  — 

1  had  been  a  patient  wife  :  but.  Sir,  he  said 
That  he  was  wrong  to  cross  his  father  thus : 

God  bless  himr  he  said,   'and  may  he 
never  know 
The  troubles  I  have  gone  thro'  1 '    Then  he 
turn'd 


His  face  and  pass'd  —  unhappy  that  I  am  I 
But  now.  Sir,  let  me  have  my  boy,  for  you 
Will  make  him  hard,  and  he  will  learn  tc 

slight 
His  father's  memory ;  and  take  Dora  back. 
And  let  all  this  be  as  it  was  before." 

So  Mary  said,  and  Dora  hid  her  face 
By  Mary.     There  was  silence  in  the  room  ; 
And  all  at  once  the  old  man  burst  in  sobs  : 
"I   have  bee     to  blame-— to  blame.     I 

have  kill'u  my  son. 
I  have  kill'd  him  — but  I  loved  him  — my 

dear  son. 
May  God  forgive  me  I  —  I  have  been  to  blame. 
Kiss  me,  my  children." 

Then  they  clung  about 
I  he  old  man's  neck,  and  kiss'd  him  many 

times. 
And  all  the  man  was  broken  with  remorse ; 
And  all  his  love  came  back  a  hundred  fold  ; 
And  for  three  hours  he  sobb'd  o'er  William's 

child. 
Thinking  of  William. 

So  those  four  abode 
Withm  one  house  together ;  and  as  years 
Went  forward,  Mary  took  another  mate ; 
But  Dora  lived  unmarried  till  her  death. 


AUDLEY  COURT. 

"The  Bull,  the  Fleece  are  cramm'd,  and 

not  a  room 
,  For  love  or  money.     Let  us  picnic  there 
At  Audley  Court." 

tr        .J  v,        \  ?P°''*'  ^''■'^  Audley  feast 
ilumm  d  like  a  hive  all  round  the  narrow 

To  Francis,  with  a  basket  on  his  arm, 
To  Francis  just  alighted  from  the  boat, 
And  breathing  of  the  sea.     "  With  all  my 

heart," 
Said  Francis.    Then  we  shoulder'd  thro'  the 

swarm. 
And  rounded  by  the  stillness  of  the  beach 
To  where  the  bay  runs  up  its  latest  horn. 

We  left  the  dying  ebb  that  faintly  lipp'd 
The  flat  red  granite  ;  so  by  many  a  sweep 
Of  meadow  smooth  from  aftermath  we  reach'd 
The  griffin-guarded  gates,  and  pass'd  thro' 

all 
The  pillar'd  dusk  of  sounding  sycamores. 
And  cross'd  the  garden  to  the  gardener's 

lodge. 
With  all  its  casements  bedded,  and  its  walls 
And  chimneys  muffled  in  the  leafy  vine. 

There,  on  a  slope  of  orchard,  Francis  laid 
A  damask  napkin  wrought  with  horse  and 

hound. 
Brought  out  a  dusky  loaf  that  smelt  of  home, 
And,  half-cut-down,  a  pasty  costly  made, 
Where  quail  and  pigeon,  lark  and  leveret  lay, 
Like  fossils  of  the  rock,  with  golden  yolks 
Imbedded  and  injellied ;  last,  with  these, 
A  flask  of  cider  from  his  father's  vats. 
Prime,  which  I  knew ;  and  so  we  sat  and  eat 
And  talk'd  old  matters  over :  who  was  dead, 
Who  married,  who  was  like  to  be,  and  how 


Then^.nlfrhM  ^'  """^  '',^°  '^""'^  «"'  '^e  hall : 
was         ''°"         ^*'"*'  ''"*  ^«^*'<^«  't 

''"'''*  "arm"  '  ^^^"^""^  theaie,  discuss'd  the 

The  foiirfieid  system,  and  the  price  of  grain  • 

pm,   "''°"  "'*  ^""'-'a^^.  wheTe  we 

Wi?h?'"?'¥?'"  *oge»heron  the  king 
With  heated  faces ;  till  he  laugh'd  aJoud  • 
And  wh.le  the  blackbird  on  the  pippfn  hung 
sang-™'       P'  '""  '"'"^  in  mine  a"f 

"°'™   """"'I    '"'«'"   '^'''^    "larch    and 
countern^  rch, 

Anrf''?*  '^"'Sixpence  in  a  battle-field. 
And  Bhovell'd  up  into  a  bloody  trench 

life  °"*  ^'°'^^'  **"' '"'  "*  "^^'"y 

Perr?'7ii°  ^""'"^  "^^""'^  ''=»'an"  at  a  desk, 
T?ii  ,1.1  -^^  "■  "^^y  "P°"  a  three-legg'd  «tool 
A  e  ?J  I'of  ^hi'it  i^^'"'^,^•  ^"'^  ^"  hlf  joints  • 
"  Wh  M  ^^"'-  ^"' '«'  ™e  live  my  life. 
Who  d  serve  the  state?  for  if  I  carved 
my  name 
Upon  the  cliffs  that  guard  my  native  land. 
I  might  as  well  have  traced  it  in  the  sands  • 
The  sea  wastes  all :  but  let  me  live  mj  life." 

o^ice.'"'  ''    ^  ^"'"'^  "  *°'"^" 

But  she  was  sharper  than  an  eastern  wind 
Tu?ns  fmrn'^n/.'  '""^■'^  f^°"]  her,  as  a  thorn 

life"       "^^^  ■""'  ^"  "*«  "^^  ""y 

I  f^fn^"^''''"'",^'^"^  ^  replied  with  mine: 
If  ,1,1"^'"  *  ^°'"'"«'  a"  of  songs, 
i^nock  d  down  to  me,  when  old  Sir  Robert's 

pride, 
His  books  —  the  more  the  pity,  so  I  said  — 
came  to  the  hammer  here  in  March  — and 

tins  — 

I  set  the  words,  and  added  names  I  knew. 
Sleep,  liUen  Aubrey,  sleep,  and  dream 
01  me  : 
Sleep,  Ellen,  folded  in  thy  sister's  arm. 

'■  Sll?n^"J.^',  ''^P-'y  jl^j^ni  h^>-  arm  is  mine. 
v.^-v?'-  ^"^,"'  'o''^*^  'n  Emilia's  arm ; 
Emilia,  fairer  than  all  else  but  thou, 
for  thou  art  Ojirer  than  all  else  that  is. 

^'^^^Pr^^'^^ajhing  health  and  peace  upon 

Sleep,  ^breathing  love  and  trust  against  her 

I  go  to-night :  I  come  to-morrow  mom. 
1  go,  but  r  return  :  I  would  I  were 
?i«n''   rn"*^  "'.^  darkness  and  the  dream. 
Sleep,  Ellen  Aubrey,  love,  and  dream  of 
me. 
So  sang  we  each  to  either.  Francis  Hale 
The  farmer's  son  who  lived  across  the  bay, 

A  \4  -'^"u  =/,'?'^  ^-  that  having  wherewithal 
And  ,n  the  fallow  leisure  of  my  life,  ' 

Didj^at  I  would:  but  ere 'the  night  we 

And  saunter'd  home  beneath 
just 

Tu.?litr"'v'^'-"''y.^^'"'''  »'"'"'  'fee  leaf 
Iwilighis  of  airy  silver,  till  we  reach'd 


W-4Z.A'/.VG   ro   THE  MAIL. 


John, 
y antes. 
John, 
yamet. 
yohn. 


The  limit  of  the  hills ;  and  as  we  sank 
F  on.  rock  to  rock  upon  the  glooming  quay, 
down'"'*'      "'•'^  ''""""'  us:C 
Tlie  bay  was  oily-calm  ;  the  harbor-buoy 
With  one  green  sparkle  ever  and  anon 
Dipt  by  itseit,  and  wo  were  glad  al  heart. 

WALKING  TO  THE  MAIL. 

^'"n.ni^wstoV"'''^-    "-•^"^h.he 
Above  .Im:  river,  and,  but  a  month  ago, 
The  whole  hillside  w.is  redder  than  I  fox. 

■te'uSSr"^''^^'"^''''y-yi-- 

yames.  \ei. 

And  when  does  this  come  by? 
1  he  mail?    At  one  o'clock. 

.  What  is  it  now? 

A  quarter  to. 

A'^scSris."^''^'^^"''^'''-'''-'^ 

vIXl"i  V,      I^'^l  ■    ?'■■  ^^"""'^  Head's  : 
But  he  s  abroad  :  the  place  is  to  be  sold. 

/o/i».    O,  his.    He  was  not  broken. 

fames.  xj.    ,      . 

Vex'd  with  a  morbid  devil  in  his  blood  ' 
J  hat  veil  d  the  world  with  jaundice,  hid  his 

JFrom  all  men,  and  commercing  with  himself 
»Ie  lost  the  sense  that  handles  daily  life-  ' 
lliat  keeps  us  all  in  order  more  or  less  — 
And  sick  of  home  went  overseas  for  change. 
fo/in.     And  whither? 

"^""tlfere^^^'  ^'^°  ''"°'^^"'  ''''*  ^'"^  ^"'^ 

''>i«."whl\^rthi?r''-'°''^^^^«- 

^'^'"^^-  .  X^  saw  the  man  —on  Monday, 

There  by  the  humpback'd  willow;  half  stands 
."P 


O 


a  moon,  that, 


>id  bristles:   half  has  fall'n  and  made  a 

bridge ; 
And  there  he  caught  the  younker  tickline 

trout  —  ° 

Caught    in    /fa^mwi'f- what's   the  Latin 

word  ?  -— 
Zy//c^<7 :  but  his  house,  for  so  they  say, 
Was  haunted  with  a  jolly  ghost,  that  shook 
Ihe  curtains,  whined  m   lobbies,  tapt   at 

doors. 
And  rummaged  like  a  rat :  no  servant  stay'd  ■ 
Ihe  farmer  vext  packs   up  his  beds  and 

chairs. 
And  all  his  household  stuff:  and  with  his  boy 
Betwixt  his  knees,  his  wife  upon  the  tilt, 
out  and  meats  a  friend  who  hails  him, 
What  1  ' 

You  're  tiitting  !"  "Yea,  we 're  flitting,"  says 
the  ghost,  "'       •' 

*  beds  f  ^'^^'^  ^^  *'*''«  """"S  the 


I  we  sank 
ilooming  quay, 
sath  us:  lower 

larbor-buoy 
»id  anon 
ad  at  heart. 


MAIL, 
How  fresh  ihe 

3nth  ago, 
than  a  fox. 
»'way  joins 

this  come  by? 
'  o'clock, 
hat  is  it  now? 

is  that  r  see  ? 
'ith  the  vane: 
It,  and  half 

vard  Head's : 
o  be  sold, 
broken. 
No,  sir,  he, 
s  blood 
dice,  hid  his 

with  himself, 
lail  V  life  — 
or  less  — 
i  for  change. 

e  's  here  and 

'ith  him, 
y  Dawes. 

on  Monday, 

:  half  stands 

nd  made  a 

cer  tickling 

the  Latin 

:y  say, 
that  shook 
is,  tapt   at 

ant  stay'd : 
beds . and 

vithhisboy 
he  tilt, 
hails  him, 

ting,"  says 

imong  the 


EDWTN  ^TORRIS. 


47 


% 


I 


"  O  well,"  says  he,  "  you  flitting  with  us 

too  — 
Jack,  turn    the    horses'  heads   and    home 
again." 
John.    He  left  hit  wife  behipd  ;  for  so  I 

heard. 
James.     He  left  her,  yes.     I  met  my  lady 
once  : 
A  woman  like  a  butt,  and  harsh  as  crabs. 
John.    O  yet  but  I  remember,  ten  years 
back  — 
'T  is  now  at  least  ten  years  —  and  then  she 

was  — 
You  could  not  light  upon  a  sweeter  thing  : 
A  body  slight  and  round,  and  like  a  pear 
In  growing,  modest  eyes,  a  h.ind,  a  foot 
Lessening  in  perfect  cadence,  and  a  skin 
As  clean  and  white  as  privet  when  it  flowers. 
James.    Ay,  ay,  the  blossom  fades,  and 
they  that  loved 
At  first  like  dove  and  dove  were  cat  and  dog. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  cottager,  : 

Out  of  her  sphere.    What  betwixt  shame  and  I 

pride, 
New  things  and  old,  himself  and  her,  she 

sour'd 
To  what  she  is :  a  nature  never  kiiid  ! 
Like  men,  like  manners :  like  breeds  like, 

they  say. 
Kind  nature  is  the  best :  those  manners  next 
That  fit  us  like  a  nature  second-hand  ; 
Which  are  indeed  the  manners  of  the  great. 
John.    But  1  had  heard  it  was  this  bill 
that  past, 
And  fear  of  change  at  home,  that  drove  him 
hence. 
James.    That  was  the  last  drop  in  his  cup 
of  gall. 
I  once  was  near  him,  when  his  bailiff  brought 
A  Chartist  pike.    You  should  have  seen  him 

wince 
As  from  a  venomous  thii.g  :  he  thought  him- 
self 
A  mark  for  all,  and  shudder'd,  Itst  a  cry         | 
Should  break  his  sleep  by  night,  and  his  nice 

eyes 
Should  see  the  raw  mechanic's  bloody  thumbs 
Sweat  on  his  blazon'd  chairs ;  but,  sir,  you 

know 
That  these  two  parties  still  divide  the  world  — 
Of  those  that  want,  and  those  that  have  :  and 

still 
The  same  old  sore  breaks  out  from  age  to  age 
With  much  the  same  result.     Now  i  myself, 
A  Tory  to  the  quick,  was  as  a  boy 
Destnictiv*;,  when  I  had  not  what  I  would. 
I  was  at  school  —  a  college  in  the  South  : 
There  lived  a  flayflint  near ;  we  stole  his  fruit. 
His  hens,  his  eggs  ;  but  there  was  law  for  us  ; 
We  paid  in  person.    He  had  a  sow,  sir.    She, 
With  meditative  grunts  of  nuich  content, 
Lay  great  with  pig,  wallowing  in  sun  and 

nnid. 
By  night  we  dragg'd  her  to  the  college  tower 
From  her  warm  bed,  and  up  the  corkscrew 

stair 
With  hand  and  rope  we  haled  the  groaning 
sow, 


And  on  the  leads  we  kept  her  till  she  pigg'd. 
Large  range  of  prospect  had  the  mother  sow, 
And  but  for  daily  loss  of  one  she  loved, 
As  one  by  one  we  took  them  —  but  for  this  — 
As  never  sow  was  higher  in  this  world  — 
Might  have  been  happy:   but  what  lot  is 

pure  ? 
We  tooK  them  all,  fill  she  was  left  alone 
Upon  her  tower,  the  Niobe  of  swine, 
And  so  return'd  unfarrow'd  to  her  sty. 
John.     They  found  you  out? 
James.  Not  they. 

John.  Well  -  after  all— 

What  know  we  of  the  secret  of  a  man  ? 
His  nerves  were  wrong.     What  ails  us,  who 

are  sr>'     ■•., 
That  we         uld  mimic  this  raw  fool  the 

wor,j. 
Which  charts  us  all  in  its  coarse  blacks  or 

whiles, 
As  ruthless  as  ,i  baby  with  a  worm, 
As  cruel  as  a  schoolboy  ere  he  grows 
To  Pity  —  moie  from  ignorance  than  will. 
But  put  your  best  foot  forward,  or  I  fear 
That  we  shall  miss  the  mail :  and  here  it 

comes 
With  five  at  top  :  as  quaint  ,i  four-in-hand 
As  you  shall  see— three  piebalds  and  a  roan. 


EDWIN  MORRIS;   OR,  THE  LAKE. 

O  ME,  my  pleasant  rambles  by  the  lake. 
My  sweet,' wild,  fresh  three  quarters  of  a 

year. 
My  one  Oasis  in  the  dust  a«id  drouth 
Of  city  life  ;  I  was  a  sketcher  then  : 
See  here,  my  doing:   curves  of  mountain, 

bridge. 
Boat,  island,  ruins  of  a  castle,  built 
When  men  knew  how  to  build,  upon  a  rock, 
With  turrets  lichen-gilded  like  a  rock  : 
And  here,  new-comers  in  an  ancient  hold. 
New-comers  from  the  Mersey,  millionnaires, 
Here  lived  the  Hills  —  h  Tudor-chimneyed 
.  bulk 

Of  mellow  brickwork  on  an  isle  of  bowers. 

O  me,  my  pleasant  rambles  by  the  lake 
With  Edwin  Morris  and  with  Edward  Bull 
The  curate  ;  he  was  fatter  than  his  cure. 

But   Edwin   Morris,    he   that  knew   the 

names, 
Long  learned  names  of  agiiric,  moss,  and 

fern, 
Who  forged  a  thousand  theories  of  the  rocks, 
Who  taught  ine  how  to  skate,  to  row,  to  swim. 
Who  read  me  rhymes  elaborately  good. 
His  own  —  I   call'd   him  Crichton,   for  he 

seem'd 
All-perfect,  finish'd  to  the  finger  nail. 

And  once  I  ask'd  him  of  his  early  life. 
And  his  first  passion  ;  .ind  he  answer'd  me  ; 
And  well  his  words  became  him  :  was  he  not 
A  full-cell'd  honeycomb  of  eloquence 
Stored  from  all  flowers?   Poet-like  he  spoke. 


I<  Ei 


m 


My  love  for  Nature  is  as  old  as  I  ; 
But  thirty  moons,  one  honeymoon  to  that. 
And  tluec  rich  sennights  ipore,  my  love  for 

n/j"J"  ''"'■  ^''"'■'^  »nd  my  love  for  her, 
Ut  differr    t  ages,  like  twin-sisters  prew 
Iwin-sih     fi  differently  beautiful 
lo  some  full  mu  ic  rose  and  sank  the  sun, 
And  some  full  music  seem'd  to  move  and 
change 

'  AnH^ui."  !  "I-I*'  '=''?"?"  "'■  »''«  dark, 
And  either  twilight  and  tTie  day  between ; 
For  daily  hope  fclfill'd,  to  rise  again 
Revolving  toward  fulfilment,  made  it  sweet 
10  walk,  to  sit,  to  sleep,  to  breathe,  to  wake." 

Or  this  or  something  like  to  this  he  spoke. 
Ihen  said  the  fat-faced  curate,  Edward  Bull  : 

"  I  take  it,  God  made  the  woinan  for  the 
man, 
And  for  the  good  and  increase  of  the  world 
A  pretty  face  is  well,  and  this  is  well, 
lo  have  a  dame  indoors,  that  trims  us  up. 
And  keeps  us  tight ;  but  these  unreal  ways 
Seem  but  the  theme  of  writers,  and  indeed 
Worn  threadbare.  Man  is  made  of  solid  stuff. 
I  say,  Ood  made  the  woman  for  the  man. 
And  for  the  good  and  increase  of  the  world  " 


EDIVW  MORRIS. 


a  full  Gnd-bless-you  right  and 


"^"low"'"  ^'^  ''  "y°"P''=^  ^^^  pipe  too 
But  I  have  sudden  touches,  and  can  run 
My  faith  bevond  my  practice  into  his  : 
Iho  If,  m  dancing  after  Letty  Hill, 
I  do  not  hear  the  bells  upon  my  cap, 
I  scarce  hear  other  music  :  yet  say  on. 
What  should  one  give  to  light  on  such  a 

dream  r 
I  ask'd  him  half-sardonically. 

Give  all  thou  art,"  he  answer'd,  nnd'aVight 

I  would  have  hid  her  needle  in  my  heart. 
To  save  her  little  finger  from  a  scratch 
No  deeper  than  the  sTcin  :  ny  ears  could  hear 

wor^h      "  ^*"'  "'"'^'''  ^^^ 

The  experience  of  the  wise.      I  went  and 
came  ; 

?,nl°'l*  ^""^  ''''^^r  "''■°'  ♦''e  summer  land ; 
I  spoke  her  name  alone.  Thrice-happy  days 
I  he  flower  of  each,  those  moments  when  we 

The  crown  of  all,  we  met  to  part  no  more." 

^y•ere  not  his  words  delicious,  I  a  beast 

Wh/th"  "'f ""  "  \  ^'^  ^  •'"*  something  jarr'd ; 
Whether  he  spoke  too  largely;   that  there 
seem  ci  ' 

Or  n"i''  °^  *°"\f ""'"« '?'^«>  ^o-^e  self-conceit, 
"r  over-smoothness  :  howsoe'er  it  was. 
He  scarcely  hit  my  humor,  and  I  said  ■ 


Sneeze  out 

left  > 
But  you  can  talk  :  vours  is  a  kindly  vein  : 

;itfc  •  ~  """'"  knows  I  as  much 

""''*' t°w7''°"'''  '"'^'''  **"'  ^°^  *  "'°"Slit  or 
That  like  a  purple  beech  among  the  greens 
Looks  out  of  place  :  't  is  from  nS  wanton  her  ■ 
It  IS  my  shyness,  or  my  self  distrust.  ' 

Or  something  of  .1  wayward  modern  mind 
Dissecting  passion,    fime  will  set  meVight. " 

^°  Tere.  ^  ''"°"''"«  "°'  ^^e  things  that 

"  God  mi'i'fh^'^""*'  ?"'^  ^'^'^"d  Bull : 
x^Af     fu    '"''  .woman  for  the  use  of  man. 

AnH   ?'  "'^  ^S'.i'*  ?"*>  increase  of  the  world." 

pa'used        '°   '""«'''''•  '"^  "*'*«« 

The"' fl"'  ?^!?f '"K^.  °f  »he  marge  to  hear 
■1  he  soft  wind  blowing  over  meadowy  holms 
And  alders  garden-isTes ;  and  now  we  left 
Ihe  clerk  behind  us,  I  and  he,  and  ran 
By  ripply  shallows  of  the  lisping  lake. 
Delighted  with  the  freshncs  and  the  sound. 

But,^when   the  bracken  rusted  on  their 


not    think    yourself 


"  Friend   Edwin,  do 
alone 

a[  in  th!"T  ''fPPy-     ^r''?"  "«»'  Love  to  me, 
As  m  the  Latin  song  I  learnt  at  school. 


that  was  a  God,  and  ,s  a  lawyer's  clerk, 
The  rentroll  Cupid  of  our  rainy  isles. 

1  IS  true,  we  met ;  one  hour  I  had,  no  more  • 
She  sent  a  note,  the  seal  an  £/le  vous  iu7i  ' 
Ihe  close  "Your  Letty,  only  yours "Tand 

Thrice  underscored.    The  friendly  mist  of 

morn 
Clung  to  the  lake.     I  boated  over,  r„n 

'  '^'heart^''*'""'''  ^"^  ^^^"^  *'"^  ^*^''"S 

^^^  ^iTeef-'^^'*  ™"'*  """""^  ^^^  shelving 
And  out  I  stept,  and  up  I  crept ;  she  moved. 
Like  Proserpine  m  Enna,  gatWring  flowers 
Then  low  and  sweet  I  whistled  thrice  ;  and 

she, 
She  turn'd,  we  closed,  we  kiss'd,  swore  faith, 

1  breathed 
In  some  new  planet :  a  silent  cousin  stole 
Upon  us  and  departed  :  "  Leave,"  she  cried. 
O  leave  me  1 "  "  Never,  dearest,  never 
here 
I  brave  the  worst "  :  and  while  we  stood  like 

fools 
Embracing,  all  at  once  a  score  of  pugs 
And  poodles   yell'd   within,    and  out   thev 
came  ^ 

Trustees  and  Aunts  and  Uncles.     "  What 
with  him!"  ' 

"^"""hfml'^  ^^^  cottonspinning  chorus) 

I  choked     Again  they  shriek'd  the  burthen 

xlim  ! 
Again  with  hands  of  wild  rejection  "  Go  I  - 
Girl,  get  you  ml"   She  went -and  in  one 

month 
They  wedded  her  to  sixty  thousand  pounds, 


ss-you  right  and 

a  kindly  vein  ;      ' 
knows— as  much 

for  a  thought  or 

long  the  greens 
n  no  want  in  her : 
•distrust, 
modern  mind 
ill  set  me  right." 

the  things  that 

te,  Edward  Bull  : 
he  use  of  man, 
seof  the  world." 
I ;  ar  d  now  we 

large  to  hear 
meadowy  holms 
d  now  we  left 
le,  and  ran 
ping  lake, 
and  the  sound. 

■usted  on  their 

•  death  by  him 
'yer's  clerk, 
nv  isles. 
[^  had,  no  more : 
llle  vous  suit, 
y  yours  "  ;  and 

■iendly  mist  of 

over,  r,.n 

1  with  beating 

d  the  shelving 

>t ;  she  moved, 
lering  flowers : 
id  thrice  ;  and 

'd,  swore  faith, 

ousin  stole 
ve,"  she  cried, 
earest,  never ; 

:  we  stood  like 

of  pugs 

»nd  out   they 

les.    "What, 

ining  chorus) 

the  burthen 

ion  "  Go  I  — 
•and  in  one 

and  pounds, 


To  lands  in  Kent  and  messuages  in  York 
And  slight  Sir  Robert  with  his  water;"  nle 
And  educated  whisker.     Hut  for  me, 
1  hey  set  an  ancient  creditor  to  work  : 
It  seems  I  broke  a  close  with  force  and  arms  : 
There  came  a  mystic  token  from  the  kinn; 
io  greet  the  sheriff,  needless  courtesy  ' 
I  read,  and  fled  by  night,  and  flying  turn'd' 
Her  taper  glimmer'd  in  the  lake  below  ■      * 
1    turn  d  once  more,  closebutton'd  to  the 

storm  ; 
So  left  the  place,  left  Edwin,  nor  have  seen 
nita  since,  nor  heard  of  her,  nor  cared  to 
hear. 
Nor  cared  to  hear?  perhaps  :  yet  long  ago 
I  have  pardon'd  little  Letty :  not  indeed. 
It  may  be,  for  her  own  dear  sake  but  this 
She  seems  a  part  of  those  fresh  days  to  me  • 
For  in  the  dust  and  drouth  of  London  life 
ri/uM'"°Y"  among  my  visions  of  the  lake, 
While  the  prime  swallow  dips  his  wing,  or 

While  the  gold-lily  blows,  and  overhead 
1  he  light  cloud  smoulders  on  the  summer 
crag. 


49 


ST.  SIMEON  STVLITES. 

)^i'i'J"*'''l!,''.Y'"'  V  '■"•"«"  i"  'he  moon. 
I   drown'd  the  whoopings  of  the  owl  \ 


with 


ST.  SIMEON  STYLITES. 

Altho'  I  be  the  basest  of  mankind, 
trom  scalp  to  sole  one  slough  and  crust  of 
sm, 

K.!!""  '"f''i  "".?'  ^°^  "J^^y^"'  «"■•«  meet 
For  troops  of  devils,  mad  with  blaspliemy, 
I  will  not  cease  to  grasp  the  hope  I  hold 
Of  samtdom,  and  to  clamor,  mourn,  and  sob. 
Battering  the  gatesof  heaven  with  storms  of 

prayer, 
Have  niercy,  Lord,  and  take  awav  my  sin 

Let  this  avail,  just,  dreadful,  mighty  God, 
This  not  be  all  in  vain,  that  thrice  ten  years. 
Thrice  multiplied  by  superhuman  pan/s. 
In  hungers  and  m  thirsts,  fevers  and  cold. 
In  coughs,  aches,  stitches,  ulcerous  throes 

and  cramps, 
A  sign  betwixt  the  meadow  and  the  cloud. 
Patient  on  this  tall  pillar  I  have  borne 
Rain,  wind,  frost,  heat,  hail,  damp,  and  sleet 
and  snow;  ' 

And  I  had  hoped  that  ere  this  period  closed 
Thou  wouldst  have  caught  me  up  into  thy 

Thr^i"^i°f  *•"?"  weather-beaten  limbs 

aim"   ^'""'*'        ^^^^^  ^°^^  '"^  *he 
°    'bre    h"*  "waning.   Lord:    I  do   not 
Not  whisper  any  murmur  of  complaint. 

stflF     *^"-''"ndred-fold  to  this,  were 

Less  burthen  by  ten-hundred-fold,  to  bear, 
Ihan  were  those  Ipad-lil">  t^n-  of -ir!   that 

crush'd  ' 

My  spirit  flat  before  thee. 

Ti,-.    T  , .  O  Lord,  Lord. 

1  hou  knowest  I  bore  this  better  at  the  first, 
t  or  I  was  strong  and  hale  pf  body  then  ; 
And  tho  my  teeth,  which  now  are  dropt  away, 


sound 
^^  ^'"saw''^'""'  ^"'^  •""'""•  ""^  sometimes 
An  angel  stand  and  watch  me,  as  I  sang 

nTgh-  «^own;.A,y  end  d^aws 

in'f^lV  ^"'^  draws  nigh  :  half  deaf  I  am, 
Ahn^f ,.'  '"I""  <=?"  hear  the  people  hum 
About  the  column's  base,  and  almost  blind 
And  scarce  ran  recognize  the  fields  I  know  • 
And  bo  <  ..n-       ,!,s  are  rotted  with  the  dew'- 
vet  cer.t  1  n.-,t    •  "lamor  and  to  cry, 
While  „y  stiff  snir    can  hold  my  weary  head, 
toi'       '        '  ■"**  piecemeal  from  the 
Haven.-r..,,  niero     take  away  my  sin.    . 

OJesu.    •■  th..    wilt  not  save  my  soul. 
Who  may  ,     3aved  ?  who  is  it  may  be  saved > 
Who  may  be  made  a  saint,  if  I  fail  here? 
Show  me  the  man  hath  suflTer'd  in, re  than  I 
For  did  not  all  thy  martyrs  die  one  death  >' 
For  either  they  were  stoned,  or  crucified. 
Or  burn'd  m  fire,  or  boii'd  in  oil,  or  sawn 
In  twain  beneath  the  ribs ;  but  I  die  here 
lo-day  and  whole  years  long,  a  life  of  death 

I  fx^'l  r'7/^',  'K^  ??"'''  have  found  a  way 
(And  heedfully  I  sifted  all  my  thought) 
I  More  slowly-painful  to  subdue  this  home 
Of  sin,  my  flesh,  which  I  despise  and  hate 
1  had  not  stinted  practice,  O  my  God 

For  not  alone  this  pillar-punishmetit, 
Not  this  alone  I  bore  :  but  while  I  lived 
in  the  white  convent  down  the  valley  there 
I- or  many  weeks  about  my  loins  I  wore 
1  he  rope  that  haled  the  buckets  from  the  well 
Twisted  as  tight  as  I  could  knot  thenoole   ' 
And  spake  not  of  it  to  a  single  soul. 
Until  the  ulcer,  eating  thro'  my  skin. 
Betray  d  my  secret  penance,  so  that  all 
My  brethren  marvell'd  greatly.     More  than 

this 
I  bore,  whereof,  O  God,  thou  knowest  all. 

1  hree  winters,  that  my  soul  might  grow  to 

I  lived  up  there  on  yonder  mountain  side. 
My  right  leg  chain'd  into  the  crae,  I  lav 

jT  '"  V°°''"^^'°^«  of  ragged  stones  ; 
insw-ithed  sometimes  in  wandering    mist. 

and  twice  ' 

Black'd   with   thy   branding  thunder,    and 

sometimes 

lv^.!l'1^.*K^  ''^'"P^  for  drink,  and  eating  not, 
iixcept  the  spare  chance-gift  of  those  that 

came 
To  toiich  my  body  and  be  heal'd,  and  live  : 
And  they  say  then  that  I  work'd  miracles, 
Whereof  my  fame  is  loud  amonest  man- 
kind. 

Cured  lameness,  palsies,  cancers.    Thou,  0 

God,  ' 

Knowest  alone  whether  this  was  or  no. 


Have  mercy,  mercy  ;  cover  all  my  sin.' 
Ihen.  that  I  might  be  more  alone 
thee. 


with 


so 


ST.  SIMEON  STYLITES. 


'   ! 


Three  years  I  lived  upon  a  pillar,  high 

Six  cubits,  and  three  years  on  one  of  twelve  ; 

And  twice  three  years  I  cfouch'd  on  one  that 

rose 
Twenty  by  measure  ;  la?t  of  all,  I  grew, 
Twice  ten  long  weary  weary  years  to  this, 
That  numbers  forty  cubits  from  the  soil. 
I  diink  that  1  have  borne  as  much  as 
this  — 
Or  else  I  dream  —  and  for  so  long  a  time. 
If  I  may  measure  time  by  yon  slow  light. 
And    this    high    dial,'   which    my   sorrow 

crowns  — 
So  much  —  even  so. 

And  yet  I  know  not  well, 
For  that  the  evil  ones  come  here,  and  say, 
"  Fall  down,  O  Simeon  :  thou  hast  suffer'd 

long 
For  ages  and  for  ages  !  "  then  they  prate 
Of  penances  I  cannot  have  gone  thro'. 
Perplexing  me  with  lies  ;  and  oft  I  fall. 
Maybe  for  months,  in  such  blind  lethargies. 
That  Heaven,  and  Earth,   and  Time  are 

choked. 
_    ,.  But  yet 

Bethink  thee.  Lord,  while  thou  and  all  the 

saints 
Enjoy  themselves   in  heaven,  and  men  on 

earth 
House  in  the  shade  of  comfortable  roofs. 
Sit  with  their  wives  by  fires,  eat  wholesome 

food,  i 

And  wear  warm  clothes,  and  even  beasts 

have  stalls,  | 

I,  'tween  the  spring  and  downfall  of  the  light. 
Bow  down  one  thousand  and  two  hundred 

times, 
To   Christ,    the   Virgin    Mother,    and   the 

Saints ; 
Or  in  the  night,  after  a  little  .sleep, 
I  wake  :  the  chill  stars  sparkle-;  I  am  wet 
With  drenching  dews,  or  stiff  with  crackling 

frost, 
I  wear  an  undress'd  goatskin  on  my  back  ; 
A  grazing  iron  collar  grinds  my  neck  ; 
And  in  my  weak,  le.in  arms  I  lift  the  cross. 
And  strive  and  wrestle  with  thee  till  I  die : 
O  mercy,  ir  :rcy  1  wash  away  my  sin. 

O  Lord,  thou  knowest  what  a  man  I  am  ; 
A  sinful  man,  conceived  and  born  in  sin  : 
T  IS  their  own  doing ;  this  is  none  of  mine  ; 
Lay  It  not  to  me.     Am  I  to  blame  for  this. 
That  here  come  those  that  worship  me  ?  Ha  ! 

ha  I 
They  think  that  I  am  somewhat.    What 

am  I? 
The  silly  people  take  me  for  a  saint. 
And  bring  me  offerings  of  f    't  and  flowers  : 
And  I,  in  truth  (thou  wilt  bear  witness  here) 
Have  all  in  all  endured  as  much,  and  more 
Than  many  just  and  holy  men,  whose  names 
Are  register'd  and  calendar'  ■  for  saints. 

Good  poople,  you  do  ill  tu  kiicel  io  mc. 
What  is  it  I  can  have  done  to  merit  this  I 
I  am  a  sinner  viler  than  you  all. 
It  may  be  I  h.ive  wrought  some  mira.es, 
And'cured  some  halt  tnd  maim'd  ;  but  what 
of  that  ? 


It  may  be,  no  one,  even  among  the  saints, 
May  match  his  pains  with  mine  ;  but  what 

of  that  .> 
Yet  do  not  rise  :  for  you  may  look  on  me, 
And  in  your  looking  you  may  kneel  to  God 
Speak  !  is  there  any  of  yc    halt  or  maim'd  ? 
I  think  you  know  I  have  some  power  with 

Heaven 
From  my  long  penance :  let  him  speak  his 
wish, 
■yes,  I  can  heal  him.    Power  goes  forth 
from  me. 
They  say  that  they  are  heal'd.    Ah,  hark  t 

they  shout 
"St.  Simeon  Stylites."    Why,  if  so, 
God  reaps  a  harvest  in  me.     O  my  soul, 
God  reaps  a  harvest  in  thee.     If  this  be. 
Can  I  work  miracles  and  not  be  saved  ? 
I  his  IS  not  told  of  any.    They  were  saints. 
It  cannot  be  but  that  I  shall  be  saved  ; 
Yea,  crown'd  a  saint.    They  shout,  "  Behold 

a  saint !  " 
And  lower  voices  saint  me  from  above. 
Courage,  St.  Simeon  1    This  dull  chrysalis 
,  Cracks  into  shining  wings,  and  hope  ere  death 
j  Spreads  more  and  more  and  more,  that  God 
I  hath  now 

;  Sponged  and  made  blank  of  crimeful  record 
!  all 

My  mortal  archives. 

O  my  sons,  my  sons, 
I,  Simeon  of  the  pillar,  by  surname 
Stylites,  among  men  ;  I,  Simeon, 
The  watcher  on  the  column  till  the  end  ; 
I,  Simeon,  whose  brain  the  sunshine  bakes  ; 
I,  whose  bald  brows  in  silent  hours  become 
Unnaturally  hoar  with  rime,  do  now 
From  my  high  nest  of  penance  here  proclaim 
That  Pontius  and  Iscariot  by  my  side 
Show'd  like  fair  seraphs.    On  the  coals  I 

lay, 
A  vessel  full  of  sin  :  all  hell  beneath 
Made    me  boil  over.     Devils  pluck'd  my 

sleeve ; 
Abaddon  and  Asmodeus  caught  at  me. 
I  smote  them  with  the  cross  ;  they  swarm'd 

again. 
In  bed  like  monstrous  apes  they  crush'd  my 

chest : 
They  flapp'd  my  light  out  as  I  read  :  I  saw 
Their  faces  grow  between  me  and  my  book : 
With   colt-like   whinny    and  with   hoggish 

whine 
They  burst  my  prayer.    Yet  this  way  was 

left. 
And  by  this  way  I  'scaped  them.     Mortify 
Your  flesh,  like  me,  with  scourges  and  with 

thorns ; 
Smite,  shrink  not,  spare  not.     Ifitmaybe, 

fast 
Whole  Lents,  and  pray.     I  hardly,  with  slow 

steps. 
With  slow,  faiiu  t,tepsi,  and  much  exceeding 

pain. 
Have  scrambled  past  those  pits  of  fire,  that 

still 
Sing  in  mine  ears.     But  yield  not  me   the 
praise : 


I 


Beyond  the  1 
Beneath  its 

And  ah !  wit! 
I  turn  to  yi 

For  when  my 
Ere  that,  w 

The  love,  tha 
Could  hope 

To  yonder  oa 
I  spoke  wit 


(long  the  saints, 
mine ;  but  what 

ay  look  on  me, 
nay  kneel  to  God. 
halt  or  maim'tJ  ? 
some  power  with 

let  him  speak  his 

Power  goes  forth 

al'd.    Ah,  hark! 

^hy,  if  so, 

O  my  soul, 
!.     If  this  be, 
ot  be  saved  ? 
ley  were  saints, 
1  be  saved  ; 
y shout,  "Behold 

from  above, 
is  dull  chrysalis 
nd  hope  ere  death 
I  more,  that  God 

f  criraeful  record 


ly  sons,  my  sons, 

urname 

neon, 

till  the  end  ; 
sunshine  bakes ; 
t  hours  become 
I  do  now 
ce  here  proclaim 
y  my  side 

On  the  coals  I 

beneath 

rils  pluck'd  my 

ght  at  me. 

i ;  they  swarm'd 

theycrush'd  my 

i  I  read  :  I  saw 
;  and  my  book: 
I  with   hoggish 

!t  this  way  was 

em.     Mortify 
surges  and  with 

.     Ifitmaybe, 

ardly,  with  slow 

nuch  exceeding 

)its  of  fire,  that 

lid  not  me   the 


God  only  thro'  his  bounty  hath  thought  fit. 
Among  the  powers  and  princes  of  this  world 
,.?.  '•"?''-?  ""*  *"  example  to  mankind, 
Whxh  few  can  reach  to.     Yet  I  do  not  say 
But  that  a  time  may  come  —  yea,  even  now, 
JMow,  now,  his  footsteps  smite  the  threshold 

stairs 
Of  life  —  I  say,  that  time  is  at  the  doors 
When  you  may  worship  me  without  teproach  • 
For  I  will  leave  my  relics  in  your  land,  ' 

And  you  may  carve  a  shrine  about  my  dust 
And  bum  a  fragrant  lamp  before  my  bones, 
«7Li  "™  Sa'her'd  to  the  glorious  saints. 
While  I  spake  then,  a  stingof  shrewdest  pain 
Kan  shrivelling  thro'  me,  and  a  cK>ud-like 

change. 
In  passing,  with  a  grosser  film  made  thick 
1  hese  heavy,  horny  eyes.    The  end  !  the  end ! 
Surely  the  end  1    What's  here .'  a  shape,  a 

shade, 
A  flash  of  light.     Is  that  the  angel  there  • 
1  hat  holds  a  crown  ?    Come,  blessed  brother 

come. 
I  know  thy  glittering  face.    I  waited  long  : 
My  brows  are  ready.     What  I  deny  it  now  ? 
Nay,  draw;,  draw,  draw  nigh.     So  I  clutch  it. 

Christ  1 
•T  is  gone  :  't  is  here  again  :  the  crown  I  the 

crown  I 
So  now  't  is  fitted  on  and  grows  to  me, 
And  from  it  melt  the  dews  of  Paradise. 
Sweet!  sweet!    spikenard,  and  balm,  and 

frankincense. 
Ah  !  let  me  not  be  fool'd,  sweet  saints  :  I  trust 

He^en  ""'  *°*^  ""'  ^^^ 

Speak,  if  there  be  a  priest,  a  man  of  God 
Among  you  there,  and  let  him  presently      '    ' 

A^S^r'^'l'''"'*  '*?"  *  '«'^'^"  on  the  shift. 
And  chmbin^  up  into  my  airy  home. 
Deliver  me  the  blessed  sacrament  ; 
For  by  the  warning  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
1  prophesy  that  I  sTiall  die  to-night. 
A  quarter  before  twelve. 

Aid  all  this  foolish  people  :^et  them'  t?ke '"■'^' 
Example,  pattern :  Teal  them  to  t^  Hght. 


TI/E   TALKING  OAK. 


THE  TALKING  OAK. 

Once  more  before  my  face 
I  see  the  moulder'd  Abbey-waUs. 
That  stand  within  the  chace. 

^«y°"d  the  lodge  the  city  lies, 
Beneath  its  drift  of  smoke; 

And  ah  !  with  what  delighted  eyes 
I  turn  to  yonder  oak. 

For  when  my  passion  fi«f »,«-« 
lire  that,  which  in  me  burn'd, ' 

Couw''k  "'''■""',!?"  ""*  "^"«  a  -nan. 
^-ould  hope  Itself  return 'd ; 

To  yonder  oak  within  the  field 
1  spoke  without  restraint, 


■A";^  with  » larger  faith  appeal'd 
Than  Papist  unto  Saint. 

For  oft  I  talk'd  with  him  apart. 

And  told  him  of  my  choice. 
Until  he  plagiarized  a  heart. 

And  answer'd  with  a  voice. 

^' No^i'^'^l''  ^•'?!fP":d,  uiider  Heaven 
T  r  ""j  ,^^  *^°"''J  understand  ; 

a"k 'I  '!*"  garrulously  given, 

A  babbler  in  the  land. 

Biit  since  I  heard  him  make  replr 
,rp^*  "lany  a  weary  hour ; 
T  were  well  to  question  him,  and  tr» 
If  yet  he  keep*  the  power. 

Hail,  hidden  to  the  kneee  in  fern. 
Broad  Oak  of  Sumner-ciiace, 

Whose  topmost  branches  can  disce 
1  he  roofs  of  Sumner-place  I 

Say  thou,  whereon  I  car\-ed  her  oana. 

Ifever  maid  or  spouse, 
As  fair  as  my  OHvia,  came 

To  rest  beneath  thy  boughs.  — 

"9  Walter,  I  have  shelter'd  hero 

Whatever  maiden  grace 
The  good  old  Summers,  year  by  rear 

Made  ripe  in  Sumuer-chace :  ' 

"  Old  Summers,  when  the  monk  was  fiili 
-.And,  issuing  shorn  and  sleek. 
Would  twist  his  girdle  tight,  and  pat 
The  girls  upon  the  cheek, 

"  f""*.^'*'  ?  '«^'"'"  of  Peter's-pence, 
And  number'd  bead  and  shnft. 

Bluff  Harry  broke  into  the  spence. 
And  turn'd  the  cowls  adrift  : 


5x 


And  I  have  seen  some  score  of  thoM 
.-.^"■esh  faces  that  would  thrive 
When  his  man-minded  offset  rose 

lo  chase  the  deer  at  five  ; 


And  all  that  from  the  town  would  »tn>lL 
lilltliat  wild  wind  made  work 
In  which  the  gloomy  brewer's  soul 
Went  by  me,  like  a  stork  : 

"The  slight  she-slips  of  loyal  blood, 

And  others,  passing  praise, 
Strait-laced,  but  all-too-fujl  in  bud 

For  puritanic  stays; 

"  ^A  ^  ^^y^  shadow'd  many  a  group 

Of  beauties  that  were  bom 
In  te3C!ip-time3  of  hood  and  hoop. 

Or  while  the  patch  was  worn  : 

"  4?^'  ''S  and  arm  with  love-knoti  ray. 

About  me  leap'd  and  laugh'd 
Ihe  modish  Cupid  of  the  day. 

And  shrill'd  his  tinsel  shaft. 


52 


THE.  TALKING  OAK. 


,  s  m 


1% 


1  i\ 
-  I 

V 


i 


"  L®^.*',''  (^"d  ^'se  may  insects  prick 

Each  leaf  into  a  gall) 
This  fiirl,  for  whom  your  ^leart  is  sick 

Is  three  times  worth  them  all ;        ' 

"  f"?''  "'^se  and  theirs,  by  Nature's  law. 

Have  faded  long  ago  ; 
But  in  these  latter  springs  I  saw 

Your  own  Olivia  blow, 

"  ^"'u'".  '^''^"  ^''^  gamboll'd  on  the  greens. 

A  baby-germ,  to  when 
The  maiden  blossoms  of  her  teens 

Could  number  five  from  ten. 

"  L^^^f^'  '^y  '^^^'  ^"^  ^^'"d-  '""id  rain, 
(And  hear  me  with  thine  ears,) 

That,  tho'  I  circle  in  the  grain 
Five  hundred  rings  of  years  — 

"  1^}\  since  I  first  could  cast  a  shade, 

Did  never  creature  pass 
So  slightly,  musically  made, 

So  light  upon  the  grass  : 

"  For  as  to  fairies,  that  will  flit 

T  1    >  j"?*^^  ^"^^  greensward  fresh, 
I  hold  them  exquisitely  knit. 
But  far  too  spare  of  flesh." 

O,  hide  thy  knotted  knees  in  fern 
And  overlook  the  chace  ;  ' 

And  from  thy  topmost  branch  discern 
ine  roofs  of  Sumner-place. 

But  thou,  whereon  I  carved  her  name, 

That  oft  hast  heard  my  vows. 
Declare  when  last  Olivia  came 

To  sport  beneath  thy  boughs. 

"  ^Jesterday,  you  know,  the  fair 

Was  holden  at  the  town  : 
Her  father  left  his  good  arm-chair. 

And  rode  his  hunter  down. 

"  ^V^  ^.'"^  '^''"  Albert  came  on  his, 

I  look  d  at  him  with  joy  : 
As  cowslip  unto  oxlip  is. 

So  seems  she  to  the  boy. 

"^".'jf!"'"  jwd  past  — and,  sittinp  ■straight 

Within  the  low-wheel'd  chaise. 
Her  mother  trundled  to  the  gate 

Behind  the  dappled  grays. 

"  But,  as  for  her,  she  stav'd  at  home, 
And  on  the  roof  she  went, 
cL^?^^"  the  way  you  use  to  coma 
She  look'd  with  disconten^ 

"  She  left  the  novel  half-uncut 

Upon  the  rosewood  shelf;      ■ 
She  left  the  new  piano  shut : 

She  could  not  please  herself. 

"1'^*j",r^",.®'^^'  gamesome  as  the  colt. 
And  livelier  than  a  lark 


She  sent  her  voice  thro'  all  the  holt 
Before  her,  and  the  park. 

"  \  H^^  vvind  chased  her  on  the  wing. 

And  in  the  chase  grew  wild, 
As  close  as  might  be  would  he  cline 

About  the  darling  child  : 

"  f  "'J'*^'?'  '''^.  '"""y  wind  that  blows 

so  fleetly  did  she  stir, 
The  flower,  .she  touch'd  on,  dipt  and  rose 

And  turn'd  to  look  at  her.  ' 

"  ^"1  ''^'■^  ^^^  ^^^i"*-  a"d  round  me  play'd. 
And  sang  to  me  the  whole  ''■'"• 

Ot  those  three  stanzas  that  you  made 

About  my 'giant  bole'; 

"  And  in  a  fit  of  frolic  mirth 

She  strove  to  span  my  waist: 
Alas,  I  was  so  broad  of  girth, 

I  could  not  be  embraced. 

"  Lr''^V^  myself  the  fair  young  beech 

Ihat  here  beside  me  stands, 
Ihat  round  me,  clasping  each  in  each. 

She  might  have  lock'd  her  hands. 

"  Yet  seem'd  the  pressure  thrice  as  sweet 

As  woodbine's  fragile  hold, 
Or  when  I  feel  about  my  feet 

The  berried  briony  fold." 

O  muffle  round  thy  knees  with  fern, 

And  shadow  Sumner-chace  ! 
LoiiK  may  thy  topmost  branch  discern 

Ihe  roofs  of  Sumner-place  1 

But  tell  me,  did  she  read  the  name 

I  carved  with  many  vows 
When  last  with  throbbing  heart  I  came 

To  rest  beneath  thy  boughs  .> 

"  2,y^*'  '-^^  wander'd  round  and  round 

These  knotted  knees  of  mine. 
And  found,  and  kiss'd  the  name  she  found, 

And  sweetly  murmur'd  thine. 

"  A  teardrop  trembled  from  its  source, 

And  down  my  surface  crept. 
My  sense  of  touch  is  something  coarse. 

But  I  believe  she  wept.- 


"Then  flush'd  her  cheek  with  rosy  light. 
She  glanced  across  the  plain ; 

But  not  a  creature  was  in  sight: 
She  kiss'd  me  once  again. 

"  l^^""  '^'sses  were  so  close  and  kind, 

That,  trust  me  on  mv  word, 
Hard  wood  I  am,  and  wrinkled  rind, 

nut  yet  my  s.ap  w.ir,  stirr'd  : 

"  And  even  into  my  inmost  ring 

A  pleasure  I  discern'd. 
Like  those  blind  motions  of  the  Spring, 

Ihat  show  the  year  is  turn'd. 


'  all  the  holt 
ark. 

ler  on  the  wing, 

V  wild, 

Hild  he  cling 

Id:  ^ 

that  blows 

on,  dipt  and  rose, 
her. 

nd  round  me  play'd, 

hole 

hat  you  made 


lirth 
waist : 
girth, 
ed. 

r  young  beech 
taiids, 

each  in  each, 

her  hands. 

e  thrice  as  sweet 

liold, 

feet 

1" 

5  with  fern, 
hace  ! 

ranch  discern 
ilace ! 

the  name 
ws 

I  heart  I  came 
ughs? 

.ind  and  round 

"  mine, 

;  name  she  found, 

thine. 

m  its  source, 

rept. 

ething  coarse, 


with  rosy  light, 
plain ; 
sight : 
n. 

and  kind, 
■jrd, 
ikled  rind. 


"  She  glanced  across  the  plain  ; 

But  not  a  creature  was  in  sight : 

She  kiss'd  me  once  again." 


;nng 

f  the  Spring, 
n'd. 


(« 


i  i-. 


THE   TALKING  OAK. 


Thrice-happy  he  that  may  caress 
The  ringlet's  waving  balm  — 
The  cushions  of  whose  touch  may  press 
The  maiden's  tender  palm. 

"I,  rooted  here  among  the  groves, 

But  languidly  adjust 
My  vapid  vegetable  loves 

With  anthers  and  with  dust : 

"  «9r  ^  '  "'7  friend,  the  days  were  brief 

Whereof  the  poets  talk, 
When  that,  which  breathes  within  the  leaf. 

Could  slip  Its  bark  and  walk. 

"But  could  I,  as  in  times  foregone. 
From  spray,  and  branch,  and  stem, 

Have  suck'd  and  gather'd  into  one 
Ihe  life  that  spreads  in  them, 

"  She  had  not  found  me"  so  remiss ; 

But  lightly  issuing  thro', 
I  would  have  paid  her  kiss  for  kiss 

With  usury  thereto." 

O  flourish  high,  with  leafy  towers, 

And  overlook  the  lea, 
Pursue  thy  loves  among  the  bowers, 

But  leave  thou  mine  to  me. 

0  flourish,  hidden  deep  in  fern. 

Old  oak,  I  love  thee  well ; 
A  thousand  thanks  for  what  I  learn 

And  what  remains  to  tell. 

"  'Tis  little  more ;  the  day  was  warm ; 

At  last,  tired  out  with  play. 
She  sank  her  head  upon  her  arm, 

And  at  my  feet  she  lay. 

"  Pu""  eyelids  dropp'd  their  silken  eaves. 

I  breathed  upon  her  eyes 
Thro'  all  the  summer  of  my  leaves 

A  welcome  mix'd  with  sighs. 

"  Lt°°^  ^^^  swarming  sound  of  life  — 

Ihe  music  from  the  town  — 
The  murmurs  of  the  drum  and  fife 

And  luU'd  them  in  my  own. 

"  ^°"l?'i'"?s  I  let  a  sunbeam  slip. 

I  o  light  her  shaded  eye  ; 
A  second  flutfer'd  round  her  lip 

Like  a  golden  butterfly ; 

"  ^,  *'^'''^  *°"W  glimmer  on  her  neck 

lo  make  the  necklace  shine  ; 
Another  slid,  a  sunny  fleck. 

From  head  to  ankle  fine. 

"  Then  close  and  dark  my  arms  I  spread. 

And  shadow'd  all  her  rest  — 
Cropt  dews  upon  her  golden  head, 

An  acorn  in  her  breast. 

"  But  in  a  pet  she  started  up. 
And  pluck'd  it  out,  and  drew 


My  little  oakling  from  the  cup. 
And  flung  him  in  the  dew. 

"And  yet  it  was  a  graceful  gift  — 

1  telt  a  pang  within 
As  when  I  see  the  woodman  lift 

His  a.\e  to  slay  my  kin. 

"I  shook  him  dbwn  because  he  was 

Ine  finest  on  the  tree. 
He  lies  beside  thee  on  the  grass. 

U  kiss  him  once  for  me. 

"  O  kiss  him  twice  and  thrice  for  me. 

1  hat  have  no  lips  to  kiss, 
For  never  yet  was  oak  on  lea 

Shall  grow  so  fair  as  this." 

Step  deeper  yet  in  herb  and  fern. 
Look  further  thro'  the  chace 

Spread  upward  till  thy  boughs  discerr 
Ihe  front  of  Sumner-place 

i'tiis  fruit  of  thine  by  Love  is  blest. 

That  but  a  moment  lay 
Where  fairer  fruit  of  Love  may  rest 

Some  happy  future  day. 

I  kiss  it  twice,  I  kiss  it  thrice. 
The  warmth  it  thence  shall  win 

To  riper  life  may  magnetize 
The  baby-oak  within. 

But  thou,  while  kingdoms  overset, 
Or  lapse  from  hand  to  hand. 

Thy  leaf  shall  never  fail,  nor  yet 
ihine  acorn  in  the  land. 

May  nt       ^sw  dismember  thee. 

Nor  wie.  .ed  axe  disjoint, 
Ihat  art  the  fairest-spoken  tree 

From  here  to  Lizard-point. 

O  rock  upon  thy  towery  top 
All  throats  that  gurgle  sweet  I 

All  starry  culmination  drop 
Balm-dews  to  bathe  thy  feet  I 

All  grass  of  silky  feather  grow  — 
J*nd  while  he  sinks  or  swells 

The  luU  south-breeze  around  thee  bio-" 
The  sound  of  minster  bells. 


S3 


The  fat  earth  feed  thy  branchy  root, 

1  hat  under  deeply  strikes  ! 
The  northern  morning  o'er  thee  shoot. 

High  up,  in  silver  spikes  I 

Nor  ever  lightning  char  thy  grain, 

Cut,  rolling  as  in  sleep. 
Low  thunders  bring  the  rri.-inr.w  rain, 

That  makes  thee  broad  and  deep  I     , 

And  hear  me  swear  a  solemn  oath, 

That  only  bv  thy  side 
Will  I  to  Olive  plight  my  troth, 

And  gain  her  for  my  bride. 


54 


LOVE  AND  DUTY. 


And  when  my  marriage  mum  may  fall. 

She,  Dryad-like,  shall  wear 
Alteniaie  leaf  and  acorn-ball 

In  wreath  about  her  haif. 

And  I  will  work  in  prose  and  rhyn?,*, 
And  praise  thee  more  in  both 

Ihan  bard  has  honor'd  beech  or  lime, 
Or  that  1  he»8alian  growth, 

In  which  the  swarthy  ringdoves  sat, 
And  mystic  sentence  spoke  ; 

And  more  I'.ian  England  honors  that, 
Thy  iamous  brother-oak, 

Whei-'in  the  younger  Charles  abode 

Till  ai!  >he  paths  were  dim. 
And  far  !>, Jow  the  Roundfiead  rode, 

And  :':utam'da.<«urly  Lyruis 


■■•1/ t-i  :-.tR, 
n-;  b/aakict 


LOVE  AND  Ot  tT. 

Op  love  that  never  foutid  fiis  ; 
What  sequel  ?    Streaming  «?va 

hearts  ? 
Or  all  the  same  as  if  ho  had  iici  beeti  ? 

c.Mi  °J  !u     ^''*"i.^,'"''''J^'"  ^""^  ^''""d  of  time 
StJl  father  Truth  ?     O  shaU  the  hnasui 
shout  ^*' 

For  some  blind  glhnpse  of  fi'eedom  work 

Itself 
Thro*  madness,  ha'.;d  by  the  wise,  to  Jaw 
System  and  empire  ?    Sm  itself  be  found 
The  cloudy  porch  oft  opening  on  the  Sun  ? 
And  only  he,  this  wonrier,  dead,  become 
Msre  highway  dust !  or  year  by  year  alone 
hic  brooding  in  the  ruins  of  a  life. 
Nightmare  of  youth,  the  spectre  of  himself? 
If  tr  A  were  thus,  if  this,  indeed,  were  all, 
JBetter  ths;  narrow  brain,  the  stony  heart, 
1  lie  stanng  eye  glazed  o'er  with  sapless  days, 
1  ne  long  mechanic  pacings  to  and  fro, 
1  he  set  gray  life,  and  apathetic  end. 
«ut  am  I  not  the  nobler  thro'  thy  love  ? 
U  three  times  less  unworthy  I  likewise  thou 
Art  more  thro'  Love,  and  greater  than  thy 
years.  ' 

The  Sun  will  run  his  orbit,  and  the  Moon 
Her  circle.    Wait,  and  Love  himself  will 

bnng 
The  drooping  flower  of  knowle^e  chaMed 

to  fruit  ^ 

Of  wisdom.     Wait:   my  feith  is  large  in 

Time, 
A";^  that  which  shapes  it  to  some  perfect  end. 
Will  some  one  say,  then  why  not  ill  for 
good? 
Why  took  ye  not  your  pastime  ?     To  that 

man 
My  work  shall  answer,  stfiM  I  knew  the  right 
And  did  It :  for  «  Rtarf  i»  not  as  God, 
But  then  most  GoinilM  h^inv  mest  it..  - 
—  So  let  me  think  't  is  well  forth      ..  i 
me  — 
^I-feted  that  I  am,  what  lot  is  mine 

slow  "**"  P**«*»"  P«»ce.  ay  heart  so 


To  feel  it  I    For  how  hard  it  seemM  ta  j«a 
When    eyes,  love-languid    thro'  l.Jf-ie.  J.„ 
would  dwell  ' 

One  earnest,  earnest  moment  upon  -nne-. 
Ihen  not  to  dare  to  see  !  when  tliyi  >-v  vt-jcc 
faltering  would  break  its  lyllable.-..   c  \  -ep' 
My  own  full-tuned,  -  hoi..;  yassion  i. .,  leaih. 
And  not  leap  forth  and  fel,  about  thy  neck. 
And  on  thy  Win,  (deep-d-ired  reliei  ;^ 
.Uin  out  the  aeiuy  mist  of  tears,  that  weigh'd 
Upon  my  brair,  ;,. .  senses,  and  iiiy  soul  I 
"  Mlf^*  h'l-''.  took  part  against  him- 

To  warn  us  off,  and  Duty  Vved  of  T  ove  — 
O  this  world's  curse,  —  bel-.tred  bui  h.^ted  — 

v:;' ne 
Like  Death  betwixt  thy  iiear  vatiace  and 

mine, 


tJi 


I  tears 


And   crying,   "Who   is  this?    b.*dr! 

br;de," 
!'jhe  push'd  me  from  thee. 

v     1-  „  J. .  ^^  '*•«  »•"*«  is  hard 

i  o  alien  ears,  I  did  not  speak  to  these  — 
No,  not  to  thee,  but  to  myself  \r.  thee : 
Hard  is  my  doom  and  thine  :  thou  knowest 
It  all, 
Could  Love  part  thus?  ms  it  not  well  to 
speak, 
To  have  spoken  once  ?    It  could  •.  .t  but  be 

well.  . 
The  slow  sweet  hours  that  bring  us  »;i  thinra 
good,  * 

The  slow  sad  hours  that  bring  us  all  th, figs  ill. 
And  all  good  things  from  evil,  brourdit  the 

night 
In  which  we  sat  together  and  alone, 
And  to  the  want,  that  hollow-d  all  the  heart. 
Oave  utterance  by  the  yearning  of  an  eye, 
Ihat  burn'd  upon  its  object  thro'  such  teai 
As  flow  but  once  a  life. 

The  trance  gave  way 
lo  those  caresses,  when  a  hondned  times 
In  that  last  kiss,  which  never  was  the  last. 
Farewell,  like  endless  welcome,  lived  and 

died. 
Then  follow'd  counsel,  comfort,  and  the  words 
X  hat  make  a  man  feel  strong  io  speaking 
truth;  * 

Till  now  the  dark  was  worn,  and  overhead 
The  lights  of  sunset  and  of  sunrise  niix'd 
In  that  brief  night ;  the  summer  night,  that 

paused 
Among  her  stars  to  hear  Us ;  stars  that  hune 
Love-charm'd  to  listen:  all  the  wheels  of 

Time 
Spun  round  in  station,  but  the  end  had  come, 
O  then  like  those,  who  clench  their  nerves 
to  rush 
Upon  their  dissolution,  we  two  rosf 
Ihere  — closing  like  an  individual '.     — 
In  one  blind  cry  of  passion  and  of  (  u.' , 
l;'ke  bitter  accu«ition  eV'n  '^  deat 
Caugsit  up  the  whole  of  Ui'^i.    . 
And  bade  adieu  forever. 

Shall  sharpest  pathos  blight  u",, 
Life  needs  for  life  is  possible  t? 
Live  happy ;  tehd  thy  flowers ; 


*dit, 

>ei  iiv«  — 
ving  all 


Up 


'by 


THE   GOLDEN  YEAR.  —  ULYSSES. 


55 


it  seemM  ta  mf-., 
thro'  S,uJf-t£*r'*, 

nt  upon  '-.lire, 
hen  tliy  i   iv  vcicf! 
iyllable?.   c  \  jep' 
;jassion  \m\  ieai!s, 
about  thy  neck, 
i?-ired  relieJ  ^ 
ears,  that  weigh'd 
,  and  iisy  soul  I 
part  against  him- 

'ved  of  T  ove  — 
.tfed  but  h.ued  — 

'ear  ••tiLiace  ami 

lis?    b.shd<J    iJiy 

the  stnte  is  hard 
ak  to  these -~- 
slf  \r.  thee : 
! :  ihou  knowest 

as  it  f;ot  well  to 

:ould  r.t  but  be 

ring  us  »;i  things 

gusallth.ngsill, 
iril,  brought  the 

d  aloiKt 

if'd  all  the  heart, 
ing  of  an  eye, 
thro'  such  tears 

trance  ^ve  way 
Midned  times 
r  was  the  last, 
atne,  lived  and 

%  and  the  words 
Dg  in  speaking 

and  overhead 
unrise  niix'd 
mer  night,  that 

stars  that  hung 
the  wheels  of 

e  end  had  come. 
ich  their  Hr.rves 

o  rosf 

idual ';     ~ 

id  of  I  u,! , 

deat 

.  *dit, 

!   -yetiivft  — 
%  ^:V'  vingall 

D  V,t.'..     - 

(■b«ft4«;VTby 


^Ty  blessing  I    Should  my  Shadow  cross  thy 

thoughts 
Too  sadly  for  their  peace,  remand  it  thou 
Foi  ialmer  hour#lo  Memory's  darkest  hold, 
Jf  not  to  be  forgotten  —  not  at  once  — 
?<i\;f    all    forgotten.      Should    it    cross    thy 

dreams, 
O  inlijht  it  come  like  one  that  looks  content, 
Wiih  quiet  eyes  unfaithful  to  the  truth. 
And  point  thee  forward  to  a  distant  light. 
Or  seem  to  lift  a  burthen  from  thy  heart 
And  leave  thee  freer,  till  thou  wake  refresh'd, 
ri«n  when  the  low  matin-chirp  hath  grown 
Full  choir,  and  morning  driv'n  her  plough  of 

pearl 
Far  furrowing  into  light  the  mounded  rack, 
Bflyond  the  fair  green  field  and  eastern  sea. 


THE  GOLDEN  YEAR. 

Well,  you  shall  have  that  song  which  Leon- 
ard wrote  : 
it  was  last  summer  on  a  tour  in  Wales : 
Old  James  was  with  me :  we  that  day  had 

been 
Up  Snowdon;    and  I  wish'd  for  Leonard 

there, 
And  found  him  in  Llamberis  :  then  we  crost 
Between  the  lakes,  and  clamber'd  halfway  up 
The  counter  side  ;  and  that  same  song  of  his 
He  told  me  ;  for  I  banter'd  him,  and  swore 
They  said  he  lived  shut  up  within  himself, 
A  tongue-tied  Poet  in  the  feverous  days. 
That,  setting  the  hotu  much  before  the  how. 
Cry,  like  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech, 

"  Give. 
Cram  us  with  all,"  but  count  not  me  the  herd ! 
To  which  "They  call  me  what  they  will," 

he  said : 
"But  I  was  born  too  late  :  the  fair  new  forms. 
That  float  about  the  threshold  of  an  age. 
Like  truths  of  Science  waiting  to  bs  caught  — 
Catch  me  who  can,  and  make  the  catcher 

crown'd  — 
Are  taken  by  the  forelock.    Let  it  be. 
But  if  you  care  indeed  to  listen,  hear 
These  measured  words,  my  work  of  yester- 

morn. 
"We  sleep  and  wake  and  sleep,  but  all 

things  move ; 
The  Sun  flies  forward  to  his  brother  Sun  ; 
The   dark    Earth   follows  wheel'd    in    her 

ellipse ; 
And  human  things  returning  on  themselves 
Move  onward,  leading  up  the  golden  year. 
"Ah,   tho'  the  times,  when    some    new 

thought  can  bud. 
Are  but  as  poets'  seasons  when  they  flower, 
Yet  seas,  that  daily  gain  upon  the  shore, 
Have  ebb  and  flow  conditioning  their  march. 
And  slow  and  sure  comes  up  the  golden  year. 
"When  wealth    no  more    shall    rest    in 

rnonnded  heaps, 
But  smit  with  freer  light  shall  slowly  melt 
In  many  streams  to  fatten  lower  lands, 
And  light  shall  spread,  and  man  be  liker  man 
Thro'  all  the  season  of  the  golden  year. 


the 


"  Shall  eagles  not  be  eagles  ?  wrens  be 
wrens  ? 
If  all  the  world  were  falcons,  what  of  that? 
The  wonder  of  the  eagle  were  the  less. 
But  he  not  less  the  eagle.     Happy  days 
Roll  onward,  leading  up  the  golden  year. 
"Fly   happy   happy    sails  and   bear 
Press ; 

Fly  happy  with  the  mission  of  the  Cross; 
Knit  land  to  land,  and  blowing  havenward 
With  silks,  and  fruits,  and  spices,  clear  of 

toll, 
Enrich  the  markets  of  the  golden  year. 
"  But  we  grow  old.     Ah  1  when  shall  all 
men's  good 
Be  each  man's  rule,  and  universal  Peace 
Lie  like  a  shaft  of  light  across  the  land. 
And  like  a  lane  of  beams  athwart  the  sea, 
Thro'  all  the  circle  of  the  golden  year? " 

Thus  far  he  flowed,  and  ended ;  whereupon 
"Ah,  folly!"    in  mimic   cadence  answer'd 

James  — 
"Ah,  folly  I  for  it  lies  so  far  away, 
Not  in  our  time,  nor  in  our  children's  time, 
'T  is  like  the  second  world  to  us  that  live  ; 
'T  were  all  as  one  to  fix  our  hopes  on  Heaven 
As  on  this  vision  of  the  golden  year." 
With  that  he  struck  his  staff  against  the 
rocks 
And  broke  it,  —  James,  — you  know  him,  — 

old,  but  full 
Of  force  and  choler,  and  firm  upon  his  feet. 
And  like  an  oaken  stock  in  winter  woods, 
O'erflourish'd  with  the  hoary  clematis : 
Then  added,  all  in  heat : 

"  What  stuff  is  this ! 
Old  writers  push'd  the  happy  season  back, — 
The  more  fools  they,  —  we  forward :  dream- 
ers both  :_ 
You  most,  that  in  an  age,  when  every  hour 
Must  sweat  her  sixty  minutes  to  the  death. 
Live  on,  God  love  us,  as  if  the  seedsman, 

rapt 
Upon  the  teeming  harvest,  should  not  dip 
His  hand  into  the  bag  :  but  well  I  know 
That  unto  him  who  works,  and  feels  he 

works, 
This  same  grand  year  is  ever  at  the  doors." 
He   spoke ;    and,    high  above,    I    heard 
them  blast 
The  steep  slate-quarry,  and  the  great  echo 

flap 
And  buffet  round  the  hills  from  bluff  to  bluff. 


ULYSSES. 

It  little  profits  that  an  idle  king. 

By  this  still   hearth,  among  ;!:,^se  barren 

crags, 
Match'd  with  an  aged  wife,  I  mt;e  and  dole 
Unequal  laws  unto  a  sav.ige  race, 
That  hoard,  and  sleep,  and  feed,  and  know 

not  me. 
I  cannot  rest  from  travel :  I  will  lirink 
Life  to  the  lees  :  all  times  I  havf;  enjoy'd 
Greatly,   have    suffer'd  greatly,   both  with 

those 


5* 

That  loved  me,  and  alone ;  on  shore,  and 

when 
Thro'  scudding  drifts  the  rainy  Hyades 
Vext  the  dim  sea  :  I  am  become  a  name  ; 
*  or  always  roammg  with  a  hungry  heart 
Much  have  I  seen  and  known  ;  cities  of  men 
And    manners,   chmates,   councils,  govern- 
ments, 
Myself  not  least,  but  honor'd  of  them  all : 
And  drunk  delight  of  battle  with  my  peers, 
I'ar  on  the  ringmg  plains  of  windy  Troy. 
I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met ; 
Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethro' 

fade^'  "nti-avell'd  world,  whose  margin 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 
How  dull  It  IS  to  pause,  to  make  an  end, 
10  rust  unburnish'd,  not  to  shine  in  use  I 

life"      "^^"'^  ^^""^  '''"^-    Life  piled  on 
Were  all  top  little,  and  of  one  to  me 
i;ime  remains :  but  every  hour  is  saved 
*rom  that  eternal  silence,  something  more. 
A  bringer  of  new  things ;  and  vile  it  were 

*"  *°seif  ^     ^""^ '°  ®'°''*'  ^^^  ''"^'■^  "^y 

And  this  gray  spirit  yearning  in  desire 

n-„    LTk'"'"*'^''^*'  "•'^  a  sinking  star, 
iieyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought. 

Ihis  IS  mv  son,  mine  own  Telemachusf 
10  whom  I  leave  the  sceptre  and  the  isle  - 
vveil-Ioved  of  me,  discerning  to  fulfil 
i  nis  Jabor,  by  slow  prudence  to  make  mild 
A  rugged  people,  and  thro'  soft  degrees 
Subdue  them  to  the  useful  and  the  good. 
Most  blameless  is  he,  centred  in  the  sphere 
Of  common  duties,  decent  not  to  fail 
In  offices  of  tenderness,  and  pay 


LOCKSLEV  HALL. 


Meet  adoration  to  my  household  gods, 
When  I  am  gone.     He  works  his  work    1 
mine. 
There  lies  the  port:  th»  vessel  puffs  her 

There  gloom  the  dark  broad  seas.     My  mar- 

Souls  that 'have  toil'd,  and  wrought,  and 

thought  with  mc  — 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
Ihe  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 

old  fo^e'^eads-you  ancf  I  are 

nlllf^,''^""  5;et  his  honor  and  his  toil ; 
IJeath  closes  all:  but  something  ere  the  end 

NoTunT'i'  "'•  ""'''^  n*'  '"^y  y^'  ^^  ^o"" . 

Thi  Tuf^u^'^S  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
Ihe  ights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks: 
1  he  long  day  wanes :  the  slow  moon  climbs , 
the  deep 

Moans  round  with  many  voices.    Come,  mv 
friends,  ' 

'T  is  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Fush  off,  and  sifting  well  in  order  smite 
Ihe  sounding  furrows;  for  my  purpose  holds 
lb  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down  : 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles. 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
1  ho  much  IS  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  tho' 
Weare  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven;   that  which  we 

are,  we  are  ;   ' 
One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 

Zilf'  ^^  *'""  *"^  '***'  ^^*  ^"■°"8  •" 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 


LOCKSLEY    HALL, 

Comrades,  leave  me  here  a  little,  while  as  yet 't  is  early  mom  ; 
i-eave  me  here,  and  when  you  want  me,  sound  upon  the  bugle  hcjra. 
^  is  the  place,  and  all  around  it,  as  of  old,  the  curlews  call. 
■L»reary  gleams  about  the  moorland  flying  over  Locksley  Hall ; 

AnS\*K^\^?"'  •''''* '"  *.''e  distance  overlooks  the  sandy  tracts. 
And  the  hollow  ocean-ndges  roaring  into  cataracts. 

Many  a  night  from  yonder  ivied  casement,  ere  I  went  to  rest. 
Did  I  look  on  great  Orion  sloping  slowly  to  the  West. 

Glffijuf  ^V  ^"""^  the  Pleiads,  rising  thro'  the  mellow  shade, 
Witter  like  a  swarm  of  fire-flies  tangled  in  a  silver  braid. 

fe  fhXvv*fi^*^^''f  ^  wander'd  nourishing  A  youth  sublime 
With  the  fairy  tales  of  science,  and  the  long  fesult  of  Time  ; 

m^n  r'lfi  ""*""«^  behind  me  like  a  fruitful  land  reposed  ; 
When  I  clung  to  all  the  present  for  the  promise  that  it  clos4d  : 

When  I  dipt  into  the  future  far  as  human  eye  could-see  • 

Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be.  - 

ll  Ihe  l^rinl  fKo""^""  ^"""f  °"  ^"'"^^  "P°n  tl'e  ^°bin's  breast  ; 
in  the  bpnng  the  wanton  lapwing  gets  himself  another  crest; 


nng. 


LOCKSLEY  HALL. 

In  the  Spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the  burnish'd  dove  ; 
In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  oflove; 
Then  her  cheek  was  pale  and  thinner  than  should  be  for  one  so  vonn* 
And  her  eyes  on  all  n.y  motions  with  a  mute  observance  hung     ^       ^'     ' 

T^l^^t''^'  "  ^^  S1"l'"  ^"^y-  ^P"''-  ''"d  speak  the  truth  to  me 
Trust  me,  cousin,  all  the  current  of  my  being  sets  to  thee."' 

On  her  pallid  cheek  and  forehead  came  a  color  and  a  lieht 
As  I  have  seen  the  rosy  red  flushing  in  the  northern  night 

All1hl'l!,vyr!?~^i^°'-'"  ?''«k'.n  with  a  sudden  storm  of  sighs - 
All  the  spirit  deeply  dawning  in  the  dark  of  hazel  eyes  — 

Saying,  ||  I  have  hid  my  feelings,  fearing  they  should  do  me  wronir  ■'  • 
Saying,     Dost  thou  love  me.  cousin  ?  "weeping,  "  I  havTK  tLe'long." 
Love  took  up  the  glass  of  Time,  and  tum'd  it  in  his  glowine  hands  • 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in  golden  sinds  ' 

Love  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords  with  m!»»,f . 
Smote  the  cford  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  pass'd  in  mu^c  ourof  .g    '      / 
Many  a  morning  on  the  moorland  did  we  hear  the  copses  rine 
And  lier  whisper  throng'd  my  pulses  with  the  fulness  of  the  Spr 
Many  an  evening  by  the  waters  did  we  watch  the  stately  ships. 
And  our  spints  rush'd  together  at  the  touching  of  the  lips!  ^^ 
O  rny  cousin,  shallow-hearted  I    O  my  Amy,  mine  no  more  I 
O  the  dreary,  dreary  moorland  I    O  the  ba^en,  barren,shore  I 

P,fn^!/1'^"  ?"/^",*=y  .fathoms,  falser  than  all  songs  have  sung, 
Puppet  to  a  father's  threat,  and  servile  to  a  shrewish  tongue  J 

Sn'i  «n«  n'J'f  •"  ""^^  'l^PPy  •  7  •'^^'"K  "^""^  "ne  -  to  decline 
On  a  range  of  lower  feelings  and  a  narrower  heart  than  mine  I 

Whil  f'f'  ''^  ••  *^°V''^"  '°^«='"  *o  his  level  day  by  day. 
What  is  fine  withm  thee  growing  coarse  to  sympathize  with  clay 

Be«er'!hou  wYrt  d«5^"?'°'*''  '''^l  *''■"««  «°  understand - 
IJetter  tliou  wert  dead  Wore  me,  tho'  I  slew  thee  with  my  hand  1 

RonM'in°lf'^  ^r*"?  ^y^"«'  '^'d''^"  froni  'he  heart's  disgrace 
Roll  d  in  one  another's  arms,  and  silent  in  a  last  embracf 

Cu"ld  be  Ih^  «n±l  y^'^^l  •''"'  ''"  ^g?'"^'  the  strength  of  youth  I 
v-ursed  be  the  social  lies  that  warp  us  from  the  living  truth  I 

Cursed  be  the  sickly  forms  that  err  fi-om  honest  Nature's  ml?  I 
Cursed  be  the  gold  that  gilds  the  straiten'd  forehead  of  the  fool  I 

WoSlTt''  GoT"  VnfiVJiT'''  y"f " '  -  ^^'J*'  thou  less  unworthy  proved - 
would  to  uod  -for  I  had  !oved  thee  more  than  ever  wife  was  loved. 


Am  I  mad,  that  I  should 
1  will  pluck  it  from  my  v. 


'-  ■  .sh  that  which  hs3r5  hvA  bitter  fruit? 
i>ji.,  tho  my  heart  be  at  the  root. 


Never,  tho'  mymortal  summers  to  such  length  of  years  should  come 
As  the  many-winter'd  crow  that  leads  the  clinging  rookeor  home 

SnTr!f,?  1'"'"°/'  ^  'u  '''^'fj""  ^'■'he  records  of  the  mind  ? 
Can  I  part  her  from  her<^elf,  and  love  her,  as  I  knew  her,  kind  ? 


St 


r  remember 
Such  a  one 


LOCKSLEV  HALL. 

one  (hat  perish'd  :  sweetly  diV!  she  sn^ak  and 
do  I  remember,  whon^    ,,  iook  at  ,       to  love 


move: 


Canlthinkofherasdead,  and.'rvene;  fo   1    .ln„.  ci     i 
No-she  never  loved,ne  I  ■.     :  iovet  Jove  forire^^ J^e'^'' ' 
Comfort?  comfort  scorn'd  /drvil,  i  ,k;„  ;.  .     .1     1 
T.,..  a  .o„ow.  crown  „,  .^-It  J.t'i'Ste'.lfS 

a'S.T=S>'!J' r«K'.^^.  ^.„V,'',^^".  .0  .roof. 

Like  a  dog,  he  hunts  in  dreams,  and  thou  art  stann«.  ,» .. 

Where  the  dyng  night-lamp  tl.ckers,  and  the  S'^.'^l.  ,„,,,., 

^:rlis.r.ut.,,^'„';sv's&vsx.'';"o1r^ 

W.  h  a  l,„k  hoard  of  „,„„.  p,„chingX„'K]Iish,„,.  ,,„^ 

TrII';7Zl?,tTh'r.f£?.^li'Sal^5•i,s^^^^^^^ 

I:it:£i"/ot^^=„S,.;C^^^^^^^^^^ 
S3.■-f-™■rA™^i'SV•-r:S'XE^^^ 

Sa'w  the'vi'iion  of%h  *"■■'•  f^'  ^"i'""'''"  «y«  '^''"Id  see. 

«w  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  bonder  that  'would  be ; 

purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  balis ; 


pt^ 


LOCKS  LEY  HALL. 

Heard  the  heaven,  fill  with  shouting,  and  th»re  rain'd  a  Khaatlv  dew 
From  the  nations'  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue  ; 

Far  along  the  world-wide  whisper  of  the  south-wind  rushinir  warm 
With  the  standards  of  the  peoples  plunging  thro'  the  thunderstorm  ; 

Till  the  war-drum  throbb'd  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  were  furl'd 
In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the  world. 

T''5''fK  "^f  "^  J?""""  sense  of  most  shall  hold  a  fretful  realm  in  awt. 
And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in  universal  law. 

So  I  triumph'd,  ere  my  nassion  sweeping  thro'  me  left  me  dry. 
Left  me  with  the  palsied  heart,  and  left  me  with  the  jaundiced  eye ; 

Eye,  to  which  all  order  festers,  all  things  here  are  out  of  joint, 
■bcience  moves,  but  slowly  slowly,  creeping  on  from  point  to  point: 

Slowly  comes  a  hungtjr  p.<ople,  as  a  lion,  creeping  niglier, 
Olares  at  one  that  nods  and  winks  behind  a  slowly-dying  fire. 

Yet  I  doubt  not  thro'  the  ages  one  increasing        pose  runs. 

And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widen'd  with  the  process  of  the  suna. 

Wh  it  is  that  to  him  that  reaps  not  harvest  of  his  youthful  joys, 
Tho  ihe  deep  heart  of  existence  beat  forever  like  a  boy's? 

Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  I  linger  on  the  shore. 
And  the  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more  and  more. 

Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  he  bears  a  laden  breast, 
f  K.\\  of  sad  experience,  moving  toward  the  stillness  of  his  rest. 

hark,  my  merry  comrades  call  me,  sounding  on  the  bugle-horn. 
1.    "  to  whom  my  foolish  passion  were  a  target  for  their  scorn : 

Sh«       not  be  scorn  to  me  to  harp  on  such  a  moulder'd  strine? 
I  aiu  siiamed  thro*  .-.11  my  nature  to  have  loved  so  slight  a  t h mg. 

Weakne  -   o  be  wroth  with  weakness  I  woman's  pleasure,  woman's  nain  — 
Natur     ,.:.d.<  them  blmder  motions  bounded  in  a^shalloweTS :  ^ 

Xel,  mLnIi  Jr      ■  "'"'■  Ti  '"  '!iy  Pa^'O'".  match'd  with  mine, 
Are  as  moonlig!  t  sunlight,  and  as  water  uuto  wine  — 

Here  at  least,  where  nature  sickens,  nothing.    Ah,  for  some  retreat 
Deep  in  yonder  shining  Onant,  where  my  iffe  began  to  be«; 

TwaJlirt  ri'^™  l''^''"''-^'*"'"  '■^"  "y  father  evil-starr'd ; - 
I  was  lett  a  trampled  orphan,  and  a  selfish  uncle's  ward. 

Or  to  burst  all  link,  of  habit  -  there  to  wander  far  away. 
On  from  island  unto  island  at  the  gateways  of  the  day. 

Rf«^J'h?"f 'f"'''°"2  ''"™'"g.  mellow  moons  and  happy  skies, 
Breadths  of  tropic  shade  ani  palms  in  cluster,  knots  o?  Paradise. 

Never  comes  the  trader,  never  floats  an  European  flag. 

Slide,  the  bird  o'ef  lustrous  woodland,  swings  the  trailer  from  the  crag ; 

s!!rmL'i!,W*«rt5''^f  ^'''>°r';'  '''»"f^  *•'«  heavy-fruited  tree- 
bummer  isles  of  Eden  lying  in  dark-purple  spheres  of  sea 

Sth^  ^«m^v  would  be  enjoyment  more  than  in  this  march  of  mind. 
In  the  steamship,  m  the  railway,  m  the  thoughts  that  shake  mankind 

7^rM'l.!.'^**'°"'  cramp'd  no  longer  shall  have  scope  and  brea     .ng.space ; 
I  will  take  some  savage  woman,  she  shall  rear  my  dusky  race. 

r^2*^u '^'ij°^*^".r'"i*'?'  ?"'■-  °***"  ^'*"='  «"*^  '"ey  »"»"  run. 
Catch  the  wild  goat  by  the  hair,  and  hurl  their  laaee.  in  »he  .un  ; 

V  1'*''?J'2?''  i*^?  parrot's  call,  and  leai  the  rainbows  of  the  brooks. 
«ot  with  blinded  eyesight  ponng  over  miserable  books- 
Fool,  again  the  dream,  the  fancy !  but  I  know  my  words  are  wild* 
tsut  1  «eunt  the  gray  barbarisin  lower  than  the  Christian  child. 


GODIP-A. 

/,  to  herd  with  narrow  foreheads,  vacant  of  our  glorious  eaini. 
Like  a  beast  with  lower  pleasures,  like  ;i  beast  with  lower  pains  I 

Mated  with  a  squalid  savage  —  what  to  me  were  sun  or  clime? 
I  the  heir  of  all  the  ages,  m  the  foremost  files  of  time  — 

I  that  rather  held  it  better  me.     hould  perish  one  by  one, 

Ihan  that  earth  should  stand  .1.  gaze  like  Joshua's  moon  in  Ajalon  I 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.     Forward,  forward  let  us  range 
Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change. 

Thro'  the  shadow  of  the  globe  we  sweep  into  the  youneer  dav  • 
Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay.  ' 

B  v.^Jf'^^f  ^'' "  J"'",?  l**"*^  ""')  ''«'P  »"«  «'  when  life  begun  : 

Kift  the  hills,  a.a  roll  the  waters,  flash  the  lightnings,  weigli  the  Sun  — 

O,  I  see  the  crescent  promise  of  my  spirit  hath  not  set 
Ancient  founts  of  inspiration  well  thro'  all  my  fancy  yet. 

Howsoever  these  things  be,  a  long  farewell  to  Locksley  Hall  I 
Wow  for  me  the  woods  may  wither,  now  for  me  the  roof-tree  fall. 

Comes  a  vapor  from  the  margin,  blackening  over  heath  and  holt, 
cramming  all  the  blast  before  it,  m  its  breast  a  thunderbolt. 

Let  it  fall  on  Locksley  Hall,  with  rain  or  hail,  or  fire  or  snow; 
*or  the  mighty  wind  arises,  roaring  seaward,  and  I  go. 


GODIVA. 

/  waited /or  the  train  at  Coventry  ; 

J  hung  with  grooms   and  porters  on  the 

bridge. 
To  watch  the  three  tall  spires  ;  and  there  I 

shaped 
The  city's  ancient  legend  into  this  :  — 
Not  only  we,  the  latest  seed  of  Time, 
New  men,  that  in  the  flying  of  a  wheel 
Cry  down  the  past,  not  only  we,  that  prate 
Of  rights  and  wrongs,  have  loved  the  people 

well. 
And  loathed  to  see  them  overtax'd ;  but  she 
Did  more,  and  underwent,  and  overcame, 
1  he  woman  of  a  thou  and  summers  back, 
Godiva,  wife  to  that  grim  Earl,  who  ruled 
In  Coventry :  for  when  he  laid  a  tax 
Upon  his  town,  and  all  the  mothers  brought 
Their  children,  clamoring,  "  If  we  pay.  we 

starve!" 
She  sought  her  lord,  and  found  him,  where 

he  strode 
About  the  hall,  among  his  dogs,  alone, 
His  beard  a  foot  before  him,  and  his  hair 
A  yard  behind.     She  told  him  of  their  tears. 
And  pray'd  him,  "  If  they  pay  this  tax,  they 
starve."  ' 

Whereat  he  stared,  replying,  half-amazed. 
You  would  not  let  your  little  finger  ache 
For  such  as  these  r'—  "  But  I  would  die," 

said  she. 
He  laiigh'd,  and  swore  by  Peter  and  by  Paul : 
•<  o  "  "'"P'd  at  the  diamond  in  her  ear ; 
"  ->■)  ?'/>  ay,  yea  talk  i  "-■"  Alas  i "  she 
said, 

A  ^V*,P'"°v*  "le  what  It  is  I  would  not  do." 
And  from  a  heart  as  rough  as  Esau's  hand, 
He  a     wer'd,    "Ride  you  naked  thro'  the 
iuwn, 


And  I  repeal  it"  ;  and  nodding,  as  in  scorn, 
He  parted,  with  great  strides  among  his  dogs. 

So  left  alone,  the  passions  of  her  mind. 
As  winds  from  all  the  compass  shift  and  blow, 
Made  war  upon  each  other  for  an  hour. 
Till  pity  won.     She  sent  a  herald  forth. 
And  bade  him  cry,  with  sound  of  trumpet,  all 
The  hard  condition  ;  but  that  she  would  loose 
The  people:   therefore,  as  they  loved  her 

Well, 
From  then  till  noon  no  foot  should  pace  the 

street. 
No  eve  look  down,  she  passing ;  but  that  all 
Should  keep  within,  door  shut,  and  window 
barr'd. 
Then  fled  she  to  her  inmost  bower,  and 
there 
Unclasp'd  the  wedded  eagles  of  her  belt. 
The  gnm  Earl's  gift ;  but  ever  at  a  breath 
She  linger'd,  looking  like  a  summer  moon 
Half-dipt  in  cloud :  anon  she  shook  her  head, 
And  shower'd  the  rippled  ringlets  to  her 

knee; 
Unclad  herself  in  haste  ;  adown  the  stair 
Stole  on  ;  and,  like  a  creeping  sunbeam,  slid 
From  pillar  unto  pillar,  until  she  reach'd 
The  gateway ;   there  she  found  her  palfrey 

trapt 
In  purple  blazon'd  with  armorial  gold. 
Then  she  rode  forth,  clothed  on  with  chas- 
tity: 
The  deep  air  listen'd  round  her  as  she  rode, 
And  all  the  low  wind  hardly  breathed  for  fear. 
The  little  wide-mouth'd  heads  upon  the  spout 
iiad  cunning  eyes  to  see  :  the  barking  cur 
Made  her  cheek  flame :  her  palfre  's  footfall 

shot 
Light  horrors  thro'  her  pu     s :    the  blind 

walls 
Were  full  of  chinks  and  holes ;  and  overhead 


THE   TWO  VOICES. 


and 


Fantastic  gables,  crowding,  stared  :  but  she 
Not  less  tliro'  all  bore  up,  till,  last,  she  saw 
The  white-Hower'd  elder-thicket  from  the 

field 
Gleam  thro'  the  Gothic  archways  in  the  wall. 
Then  she  rode  back,  clothed  on  with  chas- 
tity : 
And  one   low  churl,  compact  of  thankless 

e„ffh, 
The  fatal  byword  of  all  years  to  come, 
Boring  a  little  auger-hole  in  fear, 
Peep'd  —  but  his  eyes,  beiore  they  had  their 

will. 
Were  shrivell'd  into  darkness  in  his  head, 
And  dropt  before  him.     So  the  Powers,  who 

wait 
On  noble  deeds,  cancell'd  a  sense  misused ;    ' 
And  she,  that  knew  not,  pass'd :  and  all  at 

once. 
With  twelve  great   shocks   of  sound,  the 

shameless  noon 
Was  claslvd  and  hammer'd  from  a  hundred 

towers. 
One  after  one  :  but  even  then  she  gain'd 
Her  bower;   whence  reissuing,  robed  and 

crown'd, 
To  meet  her  lord,  she  took  the  tax  away. 
And  built  herself  an  everlasting  name. 


«l 


THE  TWO  VOICES. 

A  STILL  small  voice  spake  unto  me, 

1  hou  art  so  full  of  misery, 
Were  it  not  better  not  to  be?" 

Then  to  the  still  small  voice  I  said : 
'Let  me  not  cast  in  endless  shade 
What  IS  so  wonderfully  made." 

To  which  the  voice  did  urge  reply: 

1 0-day  I  saw  the  dragon-fly 
Come  from  the  wells  where  he  did  lie. 

"An  inner  impulse  rent  the  veil 
Of  his  old  husk  :  from  head  to  tail 
Came  out  clear  plates  of  sapphire  mail. 

Th?^'^"'A  ^'»  J''"Ks  :  like  gauze  they  grew : 
Thro,  crofts  and  pastures  wet  with  dew 
A  living  flash  of  light  he  flew. " 

I  said,  "When  first  the  world  began. 
Young  Nature  thro'  five  cycles  ran 
And  in  the  sixth  she  moulded  man. 

"She  gave  him  mind,  the  lordliest 
Proportion,  and,  above  the  rest, 
JJominion  in  the  head  and  breast." 

if^'^tf  .tlie  silent  voice  replied  : 

belf-blinded  are  you  by  your  pride  : 
•Look  up  thro'  night :  the  world  is  wide, 

"This  truth  within  thv  mind  rehearse, 

Ihat  m  a  boundless  uhiv^   se 

Is  boundless  better,  bou;  .less  worso. 


Think  you  this  mould  of  hopes  and  fears 
Lould  find  no  statelier  than  his  peers 
In  yonder  hundred  million  spheres.' " 

,','.  "P"'!'*'  moreover,  in  my  mind  : 

riio'  thou  wert  scatter'd  to  the  wind 
Yet  is  there  plenty  of  the  kind.  ' 

Then  did  my  response  clearer  fall : 
No  compound  of  this  earthly  ball 
Is  like  another,  all  in  all." 

To  which  he  answer'd  scoffingly  : 
«f;!°SM  *°"' '  ""PPose  I  grant  it  thee. 
Who  11  weep  for  thy  deficiency? 

"Or  will  one  beam  be  less  intense, 

when  thy  peculiar  difference 

Is  cancell'd  in  the  world  of  sense  ? " 

I  would  have  said,  "  Thou  canst  not  know." 
But  my  full  heart,  that  work'd  below, 
Rain'd  thro'  my  sight  its  overflow. 

Again  the  voice  spake  unto  me  : 
"Thou  art  so  steep'd  in  misery, 
Surely  't  were  better  not  to  be. 

"  Thine  anguish  will  not  let  thee  sleep, 

Nor  any  train  of  reason  keep  : 

Thou  canst  not  think,  but  thou  wilt  weep," 

I  said,  "  The  years  with  change  advance : 
If  I  make  dark  my  countenance. 
I  shut  my  life  fi-om  happier  chance, 

V^'T,f-!"r"  '^'^  sickness  yet  might  take, 
I  ".r'-.j  But  he:  "What  drug  can  m 
A  wither'd  palsy  cease  to  shake  >  " 

J[,j:";P V  T'^"' I  should  die.  I  know 
1  hat  all  about  the  thorn  will  blow 
In  tufts  of  rosy-tinted  snow ; 

"And  men,  thro'  novel  spheres  of  thought 
'V''',  moving  after  truth  long  sought. 
Will  learn  new  things  'vhen  I  am  not." 

"  Yet,"  said  the  secretvoice,  "  some  time 
Sooner  or  later,  will  gray  prime 
Make  thy  grass  hoar  with  early  rime. 

"  Not  less  swift  souls  that  veam  for  light. 

Ript  auer  heaven's  starry  flight, 

V,  ould  3  veep  the  tracts  of  day  and  night. 

"Not  less  the  bee  would  range  her  cells. 
The  furzy  prickle  fire  the  dells, 
The  foxglove  cluster  dappled  bells." 

I  said  that  "  all  the  years  invent ; 
Each  month  is  various  to  present 
The  world  with  some  development. 

"Were  this  not  well,  to  bide  mine  hour, 
1  ho  watching  from  a  ruin'd  tower 
JIow  grows  the  day  of  human  power  ? " 


make 


6» 


THE   TIVO   VOICES. 


II 


li 


.'<  J'?»  '''8''"t-«ounted  mind,"  he  said, 

btill  sees  the  sacred  morning  spread 
The  silent  summit  overhead. 

'Will  thirty  seasons  render  plain 
1  hose  lonely  lights  that  still  remain, 
Just  breakmg  over  land  and  main  ? 

"  Or  make  that  mom,  from  his  cold  crown 
And  crystal  silence  creeping  down, 
Flood  with  fuil  daylight  glebe  and  town  ? 

"Forerun  thy  peers,  thy  time,  and  let 
Iny  feet,  millenniums  hence,  be  set 
In  midst  of  knowledge,  dreara'd  not  yet. 

"Thou  hast  not  gained  a  real  height. 
Nor  art  thou  nearer  to  the  light, 
Because  the  scale  is  infinite. 

"  'T  were  better  not  to  breathe  or  speak. 
1  ban  cry  for  strength,  remaining  weak. 
And  seem  to  find,  but  still  to  seek. 

"  Moreover,  but  to  seem  to  find 

Asks  what  thou  lackest,  thought  resien'd. 

Ahealthy  frame,  a  quiet  mind." 

I  said,  "  When  I  am  gone  away, 
He  dared  not  tarry."  men  will  say. 
Doing  dishonor  to  my  clay." 

"  This  is  more  vile,"  he  made  reply, 

To  breathe  and  loathe,  to  live  and  sigh, 
1  Jian  once  irom  dread  of  pain  to  die. 

"  Sick  art  thou  —  a  divided  will 
Still  heaping  on  the  fear  of  ill 
1  he  fear  of  men,  a  coward  still. 

"Do  men  love  thee  ?    Art  thou  so  bound 
1  o  men,  that  how  thy  name  may  sound 
WiU  vex  thee  lying  u.iderground  ? 

"The  memory  of  the  wither'dleaf 
In  endless  time  is  scarce  more  brief 
Ihan  of  the  garner'd  Autumn-sheaf. 

"Go,  vexed  Spirit,  sleep  in  trust ; 
The  right  ear.  that  is  fill'd  with  dust. 
Hears  little  of  the  false  or  just." 

,','Hard  task,  to  pluck  resolve,"  I  cried, 

From  emptiness  and  the  waste  wide 
Of  that  abyss,  or  scornful  pride  1 

"Nav  — rather  yet  that  I  could  raise 
One  hope  that  warm'd  me  in  the  days 
While  still  I  yearn'd  for  human  praise. 

"  When,  wide  in  soul  and  bold  of  tongue. 
AmonE;  the  tents  I  paused  and  sun?. 
The  distant  battle  flash'd  and  runjj. 

"  I  sung  (he  joyful  Pasan  dear. 
And,  sitting,  burnish'd  without  fear 
The  brand,  the  buckler,  and  the  spear  — 


"Waiting  to  strive  a  happy  strife, 
lo  war  with  falsehood  to  the  knife. 
And  not  to  lose  the  good  of  life 

"Some  hidden  principle  to  move. 

To  put  together,  part  and  prove. 

And  mete  the  bounds  of  hate  and  love— 

"As  far  as  might  be,  to  carve  out 
trtu  space  for  every  human  doubt, 
inat  the  whole  mind  might  orb  about  — 

"To  search  thro'  all  I  felt  or  saw. 
The  springs  of  life,  the  depths  of  aw^ 
And  reach  the  law  within  the  law: 

"At  least,  not  rotting  like  a  weed, 
^ut,  having  sown  some  generous  seed. 
Fruitful    f  further  thought  and  deed, 

"To  pass,  when  Life  her  light  withdraws. 
Not  void  of  righteous  self-applause. 
Nor  m  a  merely  selfish  cause  — 

"In  some  good  cause,  not  in  mine  own. 
To  perish,  wept  for,  honor'd,  known, 
And  like  a  warrior  overthrown ; 

''Whose  eyes  are  dim  v^ith  glorious  tears. 
When,  soil'd  with  noble  dust,  he  hears 
His  country's  war-song  thrill  his  ears : 

".Jhen  dying  of  a  mortal  stroke, 
What  time  the  foeman's  line  is  broke. 
And  all  the  war  is  roU'd  in  smoke." 

«X^? '  '1^^'*^  the  voice,  "  thy  dream  was  good. 
While  thou  abodest  in  the  bud. 
It  was  the  stirring  of  the  blood. 

"  If  Nature  put  not  forth  her  power 
About  the  opening  of  »he  flower. 
Who  is  it  that  could  ../e  an  hour? 

"Then  comes  the  check,  the  change,  the  feU, 
Pain  rises  up,  old  pleasures  pall. 
There  is  one  remedy  for  all. 


"Yet  hadst  thou,  thro'  enduring  pain, 
Link'd  month  to  month  with  such  a  chain 
Of  knitted  purport,  all  were  vain. 

"  Thou  hadst  not  between  death  and  birth 
Dissolved  the  riddle  of  the  earth. 
So  were  thy  labor  little-wonh. 

"  That  men  with  knowledge  merely  play'd, 
I  told  thee  —  hardly  nigher  made, 
Tho'  scaling  slow  from  grade  to  grade ; 

"  Mrch  less  this  dreamer,  deaf  and  blind. 
Named  man,  may  hope  some  truth  to  find, 
that  beara  relation  to  the  mind. 

"  I'^or  every  worm  beneath  the  moon 
Draws  different  threads,  and  la:e  and  soon 
spins,  toiling  out  his  own  cocoon, 


rife, 

knife, 
e  — 

ove, 

and  love— 

out 

)ubt, 

}  about  — 

IW, 

ofawe> 
iw: 

:ed, 

us  seed, 
deed, 

withdraws, 
luse. 


me  own, 
nown. 


10US  tears, 
e  hears 
s  ears : 


broke, 
te." 

am  was  good, 


wer 

r? 

nge,  the  fell. 


pain, 
;h  a  chain 


and  birth 

sly  play'd, 
;rade ; 

\i  blind, 
h  to  find, 


ton 

and  soon 


Cry,  faint  no  :  either  Truth  is  bom 
Beyond  the  polar  gleam  forlorn. 
Or  in  the  gateways  of  the  morn. 

"Cry,  faint  not,  climb  :  the  summits  sIodo 
Beyond  the  furthest  flights  of  hopj,  ^^ 
Wrapt  in  dense  cloud  from  base  to  cope. 

"  Sometimes  a  little  corner  shines 

As  over  rainy  mist  inclines 

A  gleaming  crag  with  belts  of  pines. 

"  ",  wi'l  go  forward,  sayest  thou, 
1  shall  not  fail  to  find  her  now 
Look  up,  the  fold  is  on  her  brow. 

"If  straight  thy  track,  or  if  oblique, 

Tliou  know'st  not.  Shadows  thou  dost  strike. 

Embracing  cloud,  Ixion-like ;  ^ 

"And  owning  but  a  little  more 

i  lian  beasts,  abidest  lame  and  poor. 

Calling  thyselfa  little  lower 

Wh  v^'inr^h  f ''••    P^'?  *?  ^^"  ^"'J  brawl  I 
Why  inch  by  inch  to  darkness  crawl? 
mere  is  one  remedy  for  all." 

"  WMi'lV  °"«-H<^ed  voice,"  said  I, 
vvilt  thou  make  everything  a  lie. 
■I  o  flatter  me  that  I  may  die .' 

"I  know  that  age  to  age  succeeds, 
blowing  a  noise  of  tongues  and  deeds, 
A  dust  of  systems  and  of  creeds. 

"  r  cannot  hide  that  some  have  striven 
Achieving  calm,  to  whom  was  given 
i  lie  joy  that  mixes  man  with  Heaven  : 

c' ^'i'?'/'^"''"?  hard  against  the  stream. 
Saw  distant  gates  of  Eden  gleam,  ' 

And  d'd  not  dream  it  was  a  dream; 

"  But  hearrl,  by  secret  transport  led, 
i;v  n  m  the  charnels  of  the  dead, 
Ihe  murmur  of  the  fountain-head - 

R^^''!'''],  f '^u^'''=°'"P''*'^  '•'eir  desire. 
Bore  and  forbore,  and  did  not  tire, 
■LiiKe  btephen,  an  unquenched  fire. 


Tff£   TWO   VOICES. 


"He  heeded  not  reviling  tones. 
Nor^sold  his  heart  to  idfe  moans, 

stones  f       ''°"'''''  ""'^  ^'""''^^  ^'•''^ 

"But  looking  upward,  full  of  grace. 
He  pray'd,  and  from  a  happy  pl.ce 
^od  s  glory  smote  him  on  the  face." 

Tlie  sullen  answer  slid  betwixt : 

Th«  j/  ■'"  '""^  grounds  oi  hope  were  fix'd. 

The  elements  were  kindlier  mix'd." 

I  said,  "I  toil  beneath  the  curse, 

«ut,  knowing  not  the  universe, 

1  «ear  to  slide  from  bad  to  worse  ' 


And  that,  in  seeking  to  undo 
One  riddle,  and  to  find  the  true, 
1  knit  a  hundred  others  new : 

"Or  that  this  anguish  fleeting  hence. 
Unmanacled  from  bonds  of  sense,  ' 
Be  fix  d  and  froz'n  to  permanence ; 

^^1"''^  1^°'  ^^^\  '"'■'""  suffering  here : 
Naked  1  go,  and  void  of  cheer  • 
What  IS  It  that  I  may  not  fear?  " 

;;Consider  well."  the  voice  replied. 

Wil   tho^f  fi  ^''^  *''*?  hours.since  hath  diedi 
Wiic  thou  find  passion,  pain,  or  pride? 

"Will  he  obey  when  one  commands? 
Or  answer  should  one  press  his  hands? 
He  answers  not,  nor  understands. 

"His  palms  are  folded  on  his  breast : 
Ihere  is  rio  other  thing  expressed 
aui  long  disquiet  merged  in  rest. 

"His  lips  are  very  mild  and  meek  : 
Iho  one  should  smite  him  on  the  cheek. 
And  on  the  mouth,  he  will  not  speak  ^ 

"His  littl-i  daughter,  whose  sweet  face 
He  kiss  d   taking  his  last  embrace. 
Becomes  dishonor  to  her  race  — 

"  His  sons  grow  up  vhat  bear  his  name. 
Some  grow  to  honor,  some  to  shame,  - 
But  he  IS  chill  to  praise  or  blame 

"He  will  not  hear  the  north-wind  rave. 
Nor,  moaning,  household  shelter  crave 
From  winter  rains  that  beat  his  grave. 

'High  up  the  vapors  fold  .-ind  swim : 
I  About  Inm  broods  the  twilight  dim  : 
ine  place  he  knew  forgetteth  him." 

..Vn^"  ^%  ^^'■'^'  v^gue  voice,"  I  said. 

1  hese  things  are  wrapt  in  cjubt  and  drwd. 
Nor  canst  thou  show  the  dead  are  dead.     ^ 


"The  sap  dries  up:  the  plant  declines. 

A  deeper  tale  my  heart  divines. 

Know  I  not  Death?  the  outward  signs? 

"  r  found  hnn  when  my  years  were  few : 
A  shadow  on  the  graves  I  knew,  ' 

And  darkness  in  the  village  yew. 

"From  grave  to  grave  the  shadow  crept: 
In  her  still  place  the  morning  wept : 
louch'd  by  his  feet  the  daisy  slept. 

rhe  simnl^  cAncao  y*^«.w™.».i  u*    1       - 
i  t  \  .  ' .  — -"-*--• » ...wtr  Ci  nis  read : 

,  <i;"e|:a  I  thou  art  Lord,'  they  said. 

We  find  no  motion  in  the  dead.' 

I 

Qi^^'',^'  u  ""^l  "i"* '"  dreamless  ease, 
Should  that  plain  fact,  as  taugh:  by  the^e. 
Not  make  h-m  sure  that  he  sfiall  cea^"^ 


64 


THE   TWO   VOICES. 


I  »     ' 


II 


'  '^^°  forged  that  other  influence, 
That  heat  of  inward  evidence, 
By  which  he  doubts  against  the  sense  ? 

"  He  owns  the  fatal  gift  of  eyes, 
That  read  his  spirit  blindly  wise, 
Not  simple  as  a  thing  that  dies. 

"Here  sits  he  shaping  wings  to  fly : 
His  lieart  forebodes  a  mystery  : 
He  names  the  name  Eternity. 

'*  That  type  of  Perfect  in  his  mind 
In  Nature  can  he  nowhere  find. 
He  sows  himself  on  every  wind. 

"  He  seems  to  hear  a  Heavenly  Friend, 
And  thro'  thick  veils  to  apprehend 
A  labor  working  to  an  end. 

"  The  end  and  the  beginning  vex 
His  reason  :  many  things  perplex. 
With  motions,  checks,  and  counter-checks. 

"  He  knows  a  baseness  in  his  blood 

At  such  strange  war  with  something  good, 

He  may  not  do  the  thing  he  would. 

"Heaven  opens  inward,  chasms  yawn. 
Vast  images  in  glimmering  dawn, 
Half-shown,  are  broken  and  withdrawn. 

"Ah  !  sure  within  him  and  without. 
Could  his  dark  wisdom  find  it  out, 
There  must  be  answer  to  his  doubt. 

"But  thou  canst  answer  not  again. 
With  thine  own  weapon  art  thou  slain, 
Or  thou  wilt  answer  but  in  vain. 

'•  The  doubt  would  rest,  I  dare  not  solve. 
In  the  same  circle  we  revolve. 
Assurance  only  breeds  resolve." 

As  when  a  billow,  blown  against,  • 

Falls  back,  the  voice  with  which  I  fenced 
A  little  ceased,  but  recommenced  : 

''  Where  wert  thou  when  thy  father  play'd 
In  his  free  field,  and  pastime  made, 
A  merry  boy  in  sun  and  shade .'' 

"A  merrj'  boy  they  called  him  then. 
He  sat  upon  the  knees  of  men 
In  days  that  never  come  again. 

"  Before  the  little  ducts  began 

To  feed  thy  bones  with  lime,  and  ran 

Iheir  course,  till  thou  wert  also  man  : 

''Who  took  a  wife,  who  rear'd  his  race. 
Whose  wrinkles  gather'd  on  his  face, 
Whose  troubles  nurnber  with  his  d.-iv?; : 

"A  life  of  nothings,  nothing-worth. 
From  that  first  nothing  ere  his  birth 
lo  ttiat  last  nothing  under  earth  I " 


"These  words,"  I  said,  "are  like  the  rest. 
No  certain  clearness,  but  at  best 
A  vague  suspicion  of  the  breast : 

"  IBut  if  I  grant,  thou  might'st  defend 

The  thesis  which  thy  words  intend 

That  to  begin  implies  to  end; 

"Yet  how  should  I  for  certain  hold. 
Because  my  memory  is  so  cold. 
That  I  first  was  in  human  mould  ? 

"  I  cannot  make  this  matter  plain. 
But  I  would  shoot,  howe'er  in  vain, 
A  random  arrow  from  the  brain. 

"It  may  be  that  no  life  is  found, 
Which  only  to  one  engine  bound 
talis  otf,  but  cycles  always  round. 

"  As  old  mythologies  relate. 

Some  draught  of  Lethe  might  await 

Ihe  slipping  thro'  from  state  to  state. 

"As  here  we  find  in  trances,  men 
Forget  the  dream  that  happens  then, 
Until  they  fall  in  trance  again. 

"  So  might  we,  if  our  state  were  such 

As  one  before,  remember  much. 

For  those  two  likes  might  meet  and  touch. 

"  But,  if  I  lapsed  from  nobler  place. 
Some  legend  of  a  fallen  race 
Alone  might  hint  of  my  disgrace ; 

"  Some  vague  emotion  of  delight 

In  gazing  up  an  Alpine  height, 

Some  yearning  toward  the  lamps  of  night. 

"  Or  if  thro'  lower  lives  I  came  — 
Tho'  all  experience  past  became 
«-onsolidate  in  mind  and  frame  — 

"  I  might  forget  my  weaker  lot ; 
For  is  not  our  first  year  forgot  ? 
The  haunts  of  memory  echo  not. 

"  And  men,  whose  reason  long  was  blind. 
From  cells  of  madness  iinconfined. 
Oft  lose  whole  years  of  darker  mind. 

"  Much  more,  if  first  I  floated  free, 
As  naked  essence,  must  I  be 
Incompetent  of  memory  : 

"  For  memory  dealing  but  with  time, 
And  he  with  matter,  could  she  climb 
Beyond  her  own  material  prime? 

"Moreover,  something  is  or  seems, 
That  touches  me  with  mystic  gleams, 
Like  glimpses  of  forgotten  dieams  — 

"Of  something  felt,  like  something  here  ; 
Of  something  done,  I  know  not  where  ; 
Such  as  no  language  may  declare," 


THE  DAY-DREAM. 


like  the  rest, 

!St 

it  : 

defend 
tend  — 


hold, 

lid? 

ain, 
vain, 

n. 


d, 
id 

nd. 


await 
)  state. 

en 
then. 


e  such 
» 
and  touch. 

ilace, 

e; 

[it 

s  of  night. 


^as  blind, 

;d, 

lind. 


ee, 


ime, 
iinb 


us, 
ims, 


Th«  Still  voice  laugh'd.    "  I  talk,"  said  he, 
"Not  with  thy  dreams.     Suffice  it  thee 
Thy  pain  is  a  reality." 

'•But  thou,"  said  I,  "hast  miss'd  thy  mark, 
Who  sought'st  to  wreck  my  mortal  ark,      • 
By  making  all  the  horizon  dark. 

"  ^yhy  not  set  forth,  if  I  should  do 
This  rashness,  that  which  might  ensue 
With  this  old  soul  in  organs  new.' 

"  Whatever  crazy  sorrow  saith, 

No  life  that  breathes  with  human  breath 

Has  ever  truly  long'd  for  death. 

" 'T  is  life,  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 

0  life,  not  death,  for  which  we  pant ; 
More  life,  and  fuller,  that  I  want." 

1  ceased,  and  sat  as  one  forlorn. 
Then  said  the  voice,  in  quiet  scorn  : 

'Behold,  it  is  the  Sabbath  morn." 

And  I  arose,  and  I  released 

?"h.6  casement,  and  the  light  increased 

With  freshness  in  the  dawning  east. 

Like  soften'd  airs  that  blowing  steal. 
When  meres  begin  to  uncoiigeal. 
The  sweet  church  bells  began  to  peal. 

On  to  God's  house  the  people  prest  : 
Passing  the  place  where  each  must  rest 
Each  enter'd  like  a  welcome  guest. 

Otie  walk'd  between  his  wife" and  child, 
With  nieasur'd  footfall  firm  and  mild 
And  now  and  ttien  he  gravely  smiled. 

The  prudent  partner  of  his  blood 
Lean  d  on  him,  faithful,  gentle,  good. 
Wearing  the  rose  of  womanhood. 

And  in  their  double  love  secure, 
Tlie  little  maiden  walk'd  demure. 
Pacing  with  downward  eyelids  pure. 

These  three  made  unity  so  sweet. 
My  frozen  heart  began  to  beat. 
Remembering  its  ancient  heat. 

I  blest  them,  and  they  wander'd  on  • 
I  spoke,  but  answer  came  there  none  : 
1  he  dull  and  bitter  voice  was  gone. 

A  second  voice  wai  at  mine  car, 

A  little  whisper  silv-r-clear, 

A  murmur,  "  Be  of  better  cheer." 

As  from  aome  blissful  neighborhood, 
A  notice  faiiitly  understood, 
1  see  th.!  end.  asid  kr.r.-.v  tbi=  good  " 


6i 


Like  an  iEolian  harp  that  wakes 

No  certain  air,  but  overtakes 

Far  thought  with  music  that  it  makes : 

Such  seem'd  the  whisper  at  my  side  : 

"  What  is  it  thou  knowest,  sweet  voice  ? "  I 

cried. 
"A  hidden  hope,"  the  voice  replied  : 

So  heavenly-toned,  that  in  that  hour 
From  out  my  sullen  heart  a  power 
Broke,  like  the  rainbow  from  the  shower. 

To  feel,  altho'  no  tongue  can  prove, 
Ihat  every  cloud,  that  spreads  above 
And  veileth  love,  itself  is  love. 

And  forth  into  the  fields  I  went. 
And  Nature's  living  motion  lent 
The  pulse  of  hope  to  discontent. 

I  wonder'd  at  the  bounteous  hour's. 
The  slow  result  ofcwintej-showers  : 
You  scarce  could  «K*;iM|»ass  for  flowers. 

I  wonder'd,  whi!ei|;i|iiciS^Iong : 
The  woods  w«r*fi^,s3rull  witli  song, 
1  here  seem'd  no  JihomTor  sense  of  wrong. 

So  variously  seem'd  all  things  wrought, 
I  marvell'd  how  the  mind  was  brought 
To  anchor  by  one  gloomy  thought  ; 

And  wherefore  rather  I  made  choice 
lo  commune  with  that  barren  voice. 
Than  him  that  said,  "Rejoice  I  rejoice  I " 


THE   DAY-DREAM. 


ig  here ; 
.'here ; 


A  httle  hint  to  -o'ace  woe, 
A  hint,  a  whisper  breathing  low, 
I  may  not  speak  of  what  I  kn( 


know." 


PROLOGUE. 

O  Lady  Flora,  let  me  speak  : 

A  pleasant  hour  has  pa-.t  awav 
While,  dreaming  on  your  damask  cheek, 

Ihe  dewy  sister-eyelids  lay. 
As  by  the  lattice  you  reclined, 

I  went  thro'  many  wayv^ird  moods 
lo  see  you  dreaming  — ,iiid,  behind, 

A  summer  crisp  with  shining  woods. 
And  I  too  dream'd,  until  at  last 

Across  my  fancy,  brooding  warm, 
t  he  reflex  of  a  legend  past. 

And  loosely  settled  into  form. 
And  would  you  have  the  thought  I  had. 

And  see  the  vision  that  I  saw, 
Then  take  the  broidery-frame,  and  add 

A  crimson  to  the  quaint  Macaw, 
And  I  will  tell  it.     Turn  your  face. 

Nor  look  with  that  too-eameot  eye  — 
The  rhymes  are  dazzled  from  their  place. 

And  order'd  words  asunder  fly. 

THE  SLEEPING   PALACE. 
I. 
The  varying  year  with  bbf'.e  and  sheaf 
Clothes  and  reclothes  the  happy  plains  : 


66 


THE  DAY-DREAM. 


Here  rests  the  sap  within  the  leaf, 
Here  stays  the  blood  along  the  veins. 

Faint  shadows,  vajpors  lightly  curl'd, 
Faint  murmurs  from  the  meadows  come, 

Like  hints  and  echoes  of  the  world 
To  spirits  folded  in  the  womk 


Soft  lustre  bathes  the  range  of  urns 

On  every  slanting  terrace-lawn. 
The  fountain  to  his  place  returns, 

Deep  in  the  garden  lake  withdrawn. 
Here  droops  the  banner  on  the  tower, 

On  the  hall-hearths  the  festal  fires, 
The  peacock  in  his  laurel  bower, 

The  parrot  in  his  gilded  wires. 


Roof-haunting  martins  warm  their  eggs : 
^    In  these,  in  those  thaiijtjs  stay'd. 
The  mantJes  from^MMHKpegs 
Droop  sleepily^^^BBlS  made. 

More  like  a  pic^^p^^^'  all 
Than  those  old  poiWitiS«l  Jungs, 
That  watch  the  sleepers  firom  the  wall. 


Here  sits  the  butler  with  a  flask 

Between  his  knees  half-drain'd  ;  and  there 
The  wrinkled  steward  at  his  task, 

The  maid-of-honor  blooming  fair : 
The  pa^e  has  caught  her  hand  in  his : 

Her  lips  are  sever'd  as  to  speak : 
His  own  are  pouted  to  a  kiss  : 

The  blush  is  fix'd  upon  her  cheek. 


Till  all  the  hundred  summers  pass. 

The  beams,  that  through  the  oriel  shine, 
Make  prisms  in  every  carven  glass, 

And  beaker  brimm'd  with  noble  wine. 
Each  baron  at  the  banquet  sleeps, 

Grave  faces  ^ather'd  m  a  ring. 
His  state  the  king  reposing  keeps. 

He  must  have  been  a  jovial  king. 

6. 
All  round  a  hedge  upshoots,  and  shows 

At  distance  like  a  little  wood  ; 
Thorns,  ivies,  woodbine,  mistletoes, 

And  grapes  with  bunches  red  as  blood ; 
All  creeping  plants,  a  wall  of  green 

Close-matted,  bur  and  brake  and  brier. 
And  glimpsing  over  these,  just  seen. 

High  up  the  topmost  palace-spire. 


When  will  the  hundred  summers  die. 
And  thought  and  time  be  born  again. 

And  newer  knowledge,  drawing  nigh, 
L'liUK  truth  timt  sways  the  soul  of  men  ? 

Here  all  things  in  their  place  remain. 
As  a!l  were  order'd,  ages  since. 

Come,  Care  and  Pleasure,  Hope  and  Pain, 


THE  SLEEPING  BEAUTY. 


Year  after  year  unto  her  feet. 

She  lying  on  her  couch  alone, 
Across  the  purpled  coverlet. 

The  maiden's  jet-black  hair  has  grown. 
On  either  side  her  tranced  form 

Forth  streaming  from  a  braid  of  pearl : 
The  slumbrous  ligat  is  rich  and  warm, 

And  moves  not  on  the  rounded  curl. 


The  silk  star-broider'd  coverlid 

Unto  her  limbs  itself  doth  mould 
Languidly  ever  ;  and,  amid 

Her  full  black  ringlets  downward  roU'd, 
Glows  forth  each  softly-shadowed  arm 

With  bracelets  of  the  diamond  bright : 
Her  constant  beauty  doth  inform 

Stillness  with  love,  and  day  with  light. 

3- 

She  sleeps :  her  breathings  are  not  heard 

In  palace  chambers  far  apart. 
The  fragrant  tresses  are  not  stirr'd 

That  lie  upon  her  charmed  heart. 
She  sleeps  :  on  either  hand  upswelh 

The  gold-fringed  pillow  lightly  prest: 
She  sleeps,  nor  dreams,  but  ever  dwell* 

A  perfect  form  in  perfect  rest. 

THE  ARRIVAL. 

I. 
All  precious  things,  discover'd  late. 

To  those  that  seek  them  issue  forth  ; 
For  love  in  sequel  works  with  fate. 

And  draws  the  veil  from  hidden  worth. 
He  travels  far  from  other  skies — 

His  mantle  glitters  on  the  rocks  — 
A  fairy  Prince,  with  joyful  eyes. 

And  lighter-footed  than  the  fox. 

3. 

The  bodies  and  the  bones  of  those 

That  strove  in  other  days  to  pass. 
Are  wither'd  in  the  thorny  close. 

Or  scattered  blanching  on  the  grass. 
He  gazes  on  the  silent  dead 

"  They  perish'd  in  their  daring  deeds." 
This  proverb  flashes  thro'  his  head, 

"  The  many  fail :  the  one  succeeds." 


He  comet,  scarce  knowing  what  he  seeks ; 

He  breaks  the  hedge  :  he  enters  there  : 
The  color  flies  into  his  cheeks  : 

He  trusts  to  light  on  something  fair; 
For  all  his  life  the  charm  did  talk 

About  hi,')  path,  and  hover  near 
With  wordsi  of  promise  in  his  walk. 

And  wiiisperd  voices  at  his  ear. 

4- 
More  close  and  close  his  footsteps  wind ; 
The  Magic  Music  in  his  heart 


UTY. 


has  grown, 

I 

1  of  pearl : 

i  warm, 

;d  curl. 


ould 

'ard  roll'd, 

:d  arm 

d  bright : 

n 

ith  light. 


not  heard 

r'd 
eart. 
welfs 
yprest: 
r  dwelli 


ate, 
forth ; 
ite, 
:n  worth. 

cs  — 


se 
ass, 

grass. 

5  deeds." 

ad, 

eeds." 


he  seeks : 
rs  there  : 

;  fair ; 
k 
r 
!k. 


wind; 


BMts  quick  and  quicker,  till  he  find 

The  quiet  chamber  far  apart 
His  spirit  flutters  like  a  lark 

He  stoops  ~  to  kiss  her  —  on  his  kn«(. 
"Love,  If  thy  tresses  be  so  d.°rk  ' 

How  dark  those  ludden  eyes  must  be  !" 

THE  REVIVAL. 
I. 
A  touch,  a  kiss  !  the  charm  was  snapt 
A  \r      ^?^^  ^  "°'s^  °f  striking  clocks. 
And  feet  that  ran,  and  doors  that  clapt. 

And  barking  dogs,  and  crowing  cocks  ; 
A  fuller  light  illumined  all, 
A  breeze  thro'  all  the  garden  swept. 
•  A  sudden  hubbub  shook  the  hall, 
And  sixty  feet  the  fountain  leapt. 

'^ThJ'u^^,  '"■5''*  !"'  ^^^  banner  blew. 
The  butler  drank,  the  steward  scrawl  d 

The  fire  shot  up,  the  martin  flew,  ' 

Ihe  parrot  scream'd,  the  peacock  soinllM 

The  maid  and  page  renew'd  their  stnfe        ' 

aIJ^^A"^  ''""S'd,  and  buzz'd,  and  cl'ackt 
n.  KM*^  long-pent  stream  of  ife  ^^^' 
Dash'd  downward  in  a  cataract. 

And  last  with  these  the  king  awoke 
And  m  his  chair  himself  uprear'd 
And  yawn'd,  and  rubb'd  his  ?ace  a/.d  spoke 
By  holy  rood,  a  royal  beard  ^^^' 

M  ^K^  y^"u  ^«  ''^^e  s'ept,  mv  lords 
My  beard  has  grown  into  my  lap  '' 
The  barons  swore,  with  many  words 
1  was  but  an  after-diuner's  nap    ' 

"Pardy,"  retum'd  the  king,  "but  still 

My  joints  are  something  stiff  or  so 
My  lord,  and  shall  we  pass  t  e  bill 
I  mention  d  half  an  hour  ago?  > ' 
The  chancellor,  sedate  and  vain 
Rnf"  ,™"«i°".\words  retum'd  reply  • 
But  dallied  with  his  golden  chain  ^' 
And,  smiling,  put  fhequeSby 


TI7E  DAV-DREAAT. 


La     "'^'"  "^"y  »  »«d»g  star. 
And  many  a  merry  wind  was  boVn^ 
And  stream'd  thro' many  a  golden  b:;r 
Ihe  twilight  melted  into  morn  ' 


67 


"  (7h,n°"^  Y'^  '"J'^ppy  s'«p ! " 

"O  hnn.  P'?^-  ^'^^P'   "^^f  "g'«lV  fled  !  " 

"  O  fo'v^e  T'  r"'  ^oke  thy'^sleep  !  •• 
U  love,  thy  kiss  would  wake  the  dead  <  '• 
And  o  er  them  many  a  flowing  ra  ge  ' 

AiS  rlltlt?"^  '^^  crescent-bark. 
%  '^^P',^"r°  .'Pany  a  rosy  change 
Ihe  twilight  died  into  the  dark. 

4. 
"A  hundred  summers  i  can  it  be  ? 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim 
^?y°»d  the  night,  across  the  day? 
Ihro'  all  the  world  she  followed  him. 

MORAL. 

So,  Lady  Flora,  take  my  lay 

And  if  you  find  no  moral  there. 
Go  look  in  any  glass  and  say,     ^ 

what  moral  is  in  being  filr 
°V,tp  what  uses  shall  we  put  ■ 
AnH  fcTi  ''"'^^'^"^°*"'  'hat  simply  blows? 

W-.1  • ''^r^  ^"y  '"°'-al  shut  ^ 

Within  the  bosom  of  the  rose? 

^'t^^^r^VH^  ^3»^«  the  mead. 

In  bud  or  blade,  or  bloom  mtv  finj 
According,  as  his  humors  Tad,     ^    "'^■ 

Ai^V^k"*"'?^^",'-'^^*"  his  mind. 
And  libera  applications  lie 
In  Art  like  Nature,  dearest  friend  • 

snou.d  hook  u  to  some  useful  end, 

l'envoi. 


THE  DEPARTURE. 

^'fcherjover's  arm  she  leant 

Act^t^^rsshLthroid, 

^Beyond  thSuSofiS  rim 
And  deep  mto  the  dyinf  dTy         ' 
Ihe  happy  princess  follow'd  him. 

"  n1  *'*®?  another  hundred  years 
"O  wX-  ^r  ^"<=h  another  kiJs'"?' 
"SveTw:''°^t'''*hehea^. 
"  '°ve,  t  was  such  as  this  and  tais." 


^  YouSni  f"'  ''f  ^'^-    ^  ^^"d*""  String 
Your  finer  female  sense  offends.  '' 

T   TJ^l ''  "°?  ?  pleasant  thing 
,  i^  fall  as  eep  with  all  one's  friends  • 

,,J  ass  with  all  our  social  ties  ' 

^n^V       S^  ^'T  'he  paths  of  wen  ; 
and  every  hundred  years  to  rise 
rn  «^f  ^1L"  *,he  worid,  and  sleep  again  • 
To  sleep  thro'  terms  of  mighty  wars       ' 

AcV„  7T  "■      "  ■-■"%"    ""=  stars, 
I  A   J  Y,  '^  ^^  ^^8-'t  "f  'airy  lore  ; 
'      Thfp ''".V"''"  "'^  year/will  show. 
I  ThVv.r»"R    °7r  Of  Stronger  hours. 

TI  '  r  ?eP">hcs  that  mav  grow, 
I      11.9  Ftderations  and  the  Powers  • 
Tit-mic  forces  taking  hirth  ' 

In  divtrs  seasons,  divers  climes; 


68 

For  we  are  Ancients  of  the  earth, 
And  in  the  morning  of  the  times. 


A  MP H ION. 


ir  ! 


So  sleeping,  so  aroused  from  sleep 
Thro  sunny  decades  new  and  strange, 

Or  gay  quinquenniads  would  we  reap 
The  flower  r.ad  quintessence  of  change. 


Ah,  yet  would  I  —and  would  I  might  I 

So  much  your  eyes  my  fancy  take  — 
Be  still  the  first  to  leap  to  light 

Thar  I  might  kiss  those  eyes  awake  ! 
For,  a;n  I  right  or  am  I  wrong, 

To  choose  your  own  you  did  not  care  ; 
You  'd  have  my  moral  from  the  song, 

And  I  will  take  my  pleasure  there : 
And,  am  I  right  or  am  I  wrong. 

My  fancy,  ranging  thro'  and  thro'. 
To  search  a  meaning  for  the  song, 

Perforce  will  still  revert  to  you  ; 
Nor  finds  a  closer  truth  than  this 

All-graceful  head,  so  richly  curl'd, 
And  evermore  a  costly  kiss 

The  prelude  to  sonie  brighter  world. 


For  since  the  time  when  Adam  first 

Embraced  his  Eve  in  happy  hour. 
And  every  bird  of  Eden  burst 

In  carol,  every  bud  to  flower. 
What  eyes,  like  thine,  have  waken'd  hopes? 

What  lips,  like  thine,  so  sweetly  join'd? 
Where  on  the  double  rosebud  droops 

The  fulness  of  the  pensive  mind  ; 
Which  all  too  dearly  self-involved. 

Yet  sleeps  a  dreamless  sleep  to  me  ; 
A  sleep  by  kisses  undissolved. 

That  let's  thee  neither  hear  nor  see  : 
But  break  it.     In  the  name  of  wife. 

And  in  the  rights  that  name  may  give. 
Are  clasp'd  the  moral  of  '.hy  life, 

And  that  for  which  I  care  to  live. 

EPILOGUE. 

So,  Lady  Flora,  take  n./  lay. 

And,  if  you  find  a  nii;aning  there, 
O  whisper  to  your  glass,  and'say, 

'What  wonder,  if  he  thinks  me  fair?" 
What  wonder  I  was  all  unwise, 

fo  shape  the  song  /or  vour  delight. 
Like  long-tail'd  birds  of  Paradise, 

That  float  thro'  Heaven,  and  cannot  light? 
Or  old-world  trains,  upheld  at  court 

By  Cuf)id-boys  of  blooming  hue  — 
But  take  it  — earnest  wed  with  sport, 

And  either  sacreci  unto  you. 


My  father  left  a  park  to  me. 
But  it  is  wild  and  barren, 

A  garden  too  wii.h  scarce  a  tree 
And  waster  than  a  warren  : 


Yet  say  the  neighbors  when  they  call. 

It  is  not  bad  but  good  land. 
And  in  it  is  the  germ  of  all 

That  grows  within  the  woodland. 

O  had  I  lived  when  song  was  great 

In  days  of  old  Amphion, 
And  ta'en  my  Sddle  to  the  gate. 

Nor  cared  for  seed  or  scion  ! 
And  had  I  lived  when  song  was  great. 

And  legs  of  trees  were  limber. 
And  ta'en  my  fiddle  to  the  gate. 

And  fiddled  in  the  timber  ! 

'T  is  said  he  had  a  tuneful  tongue, 

Such  happy  intonation. 
Wherever  he  sat  down  and  sung 

He  left  a  small  plantation  ; 
Wherever  in  a  lonely  grove 

He  set  up  his  forlorn  pipes, 
The  gouty  oak  began  to  move, 

And  flounder  into  hornpipes. 

The  mountain  sfirr'd  its  bushy  crown, 

And,  as  tradition  teaches. 
Young  ashes  pirouetted  down 

Coquetting  with  young  beeches  ; 
And  briony-vineand  ivy-wreath 

Ran  forward  to  his  rhyming, 
And  from  the  valleys  underneath 

Came  little  copses  climbing. 

The  birch-tree  swang  her  fragrant  hair, 

The  bramble  cast  her  berry, 
The  gin  within  the  juniper 

Began  to  make  him  merry, 
The  poplars,  in  long  order  due. 

With  cypress  promenaded. 
The  shock-head  willows  two  and  two 

By  rivers  gallopaded. 

Came  wet-shot  alder  from  the  wave, 

Came  yews,  a  dismal  coterie  ; 
Each  pluck'd  his  one  foot  from  the  grave, 

Poiissetting  with  a  sloe-tree  : 
Old  elms  came  breaking  from  the  vine, 

The  vine  stream'd  out  to  follow. 
And,  sweating  rosin,  phimp'd  the  pine 

From  many  a  cloudy  hollow. 

And  was  n't  it  a  sight  to  see. 

When,  ere  his  song  was  ended. 
Like  some  great  landslip,  tree  by  tree, 

The  country-side  descended  ; 
And  shepherds  from  the  mountain  eaves 

Look'd  down,  half  pleased,  half  frighten'd, 
As  dash'd  about  the  drunken  leaves 

The  random  sunshine  lighten'd  I 

O,  nature  first  was  fresh  to  men, 

And  wanton  without  measure  ; 
^•o  yoittiifiii  and  so  ficxiic  then. 

You  moved  her  at  your  pleasure. 
Twano;  out,  my  fiddle!  shake  the  twigs  ! 

And  make  her  dance  attendance  ; 
Blow,  flute,  and  stir  the  stiflF-set  sprigs, 

And  scirrhous  roots  and  tendons. 


they  call, 

>d!and. 

I  great 

Ue, 

i! 

las  great, 

ber, 

ite, 

ngue, 


S. 

y  crown. 


:hes; 
th     ■ 

I* 
ath 


rant  hair, 


,nd  two 

wave, 

1  the  grave, 

the  vine, 
low, 
the  pine 


ed, 

by  tree, 

tain-eaves 

lalf-frighten'd, 

eaves 

I'dl 


ure. 

le  twigs  ! 

nee  ; 

t  sprigs, 
ons. 


T  js  vain  I  in  such  a  brassy  age 

I  could  not  move  a  thistle  ; 
The  very  sparrows  in  the  hedge 
Scarce  answer  to  my  whistle  ; 

«7-  I''*  '^°^^<  ^''^"  t'lree-parts-sick 
With  strumming  and  with  scraping 
A  jackass  heehaws  from  the  rick, 
The  passive  oxen  gaping. 

Biit  what  is  that  I  hear?  a  sound 
Like  sleepy  counsel  pleading  : 

-n?''^  '  T  ''  '^.i"  "'y  ns'K'ibor's  ground, 

■I He  modern  Muses  reading. 
They  read  Botanic  Treatises, 
A^ft^u'^^  °?  Gardeninjj  through  there, 
And  Me  hods  of  transplanting  trees, 

lo  look  as  if  they  grew  there. 

Thewither'd  Misses  !  how  they  prose 

O  er  books  of  travell'd  seamen; 
And  show  you  slips  of  all  that  grows 

t  rom  England  to  Van  Dienien. 
Ihey  read  m  arbors  dipt  and  cut. 

And  alleys,  faded  places, 
By  squares  of  tropic  summer  shut 

And  warm'd  in  crystal  cases. 

But  these,  tho'  fed  with  careful  dirt. 

Are  neither  green  nor  sappy ; 
Half-conscious  of  the  garden-squirt. 

1  lie  spindlings  look  unhappy. 

T'lf  '?i'"^  '"^^  meanest  weed 
Ti       M  °'°,^*  "P""  ''s  mountain, 
Ihe  vilest  herb  that  runs  to  seed 

iieside  its  native  fountain. 

And  I  must  work  thro'  months  of  toil. 

And  years  o«*cultivation, 
Upon  my  proper  patch  of  soil 

T  .il  °  f  """^  '"y  °"'"  plantation. 
1  11  take  the  showers  as  they  fall. 

I  wil  not  vex  mv  bosom  : 
£noiighif  at  theendofall 
A  little  garden  blosbom. 


ST.  AGA'ES.-SIR  GALAHAD. 


ST.  AGNES. 

Debp  on  the  convent-roof  the  snow<i 
Are  sparkling  to  the  moon  *" 

My  breath  to  lieaven  like  vapor  eoes  • 
Mav  my  soul  follow  soon  i^"'^^'"'*- 

Shnt'dr'  t  '^^  ™"^-e"t-towers 
b  ant  down  the  snowy  sward. 

'  V7n  P'i"^  '""'  "^^  ^'•eeping  hours 
M  1      .  u""^  ""^  ^°  "ly  Lord  : 

?s'aret°hl•?^'P'"^P"^«^"d  clear 
n,  .1-   c  '"^  '^'°*'y  skies, 
inn"* '"r'^™''"'"  the  year 
mat  in  my  bosom  lies. 

"^To  tm Ji""!- °''"  «>■«  ^°''«d  and  <i"k, 
As  this  pale  taper's  earthly  spark, 

ro  yonder  argent  round; 
bo  shows  m}- soul  before  the  Lamb. 

My  spirit  before  Thee;  ' 


So  in  mine  earthly  house  I  am. 

lo  that  I  hnpe  to  be 
Break  up  the  heavens,  O  Lord  I  and  far. 

Ihro- all  von  starlight  keen,  ' 

-Draw  rne,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star. 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

"?,,|'f'»  me  to  the  golden  doors  ; 

Ihe  flashes  come  and  go; 
All  heaven  bursts  her  starry  floors. 

And  strews  her  lights  below. 
And  deepens  on  and  up  I  the  gates 

Roll  back,  and  far  within 
For  me  the  Heavenly  Bridegroom  waits 

I  o  make  me  pure  of  sin.  ' 

Ihe  sabbaths  of  Eternity, 

One  sabbath  deep  and  wide  — 
•i'?    ,1"'?°"  ''^^  shining  sea  — 

Ihe  Bridegroom  with  his  bride  J 

SIR   GALAHAD. 

My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of  men 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure  ' 

My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten. 

because  my  heart  is  pure 
The  shattering  trumpet  shrilleth  high, 

Ihe  hard  brands  shiver  on  the  st?el 
Ihe  splinter'd  spear-shafts  crack  and  fly. 

1  he  horse  and  rider  reel  • 
They  reel,  they  roll  in  clanging  lists, 

And  when  the  tide  of  combat  stands, 
I'erfume  and  flowers  fall  in  showers 

Ihat  lightly  rain  from  ladies' hands. 

How  sweet  are  looks  that  ladies  bend 

Un  whom  their  favors  fall  ! 
for  them  I  battle  to  the  end, 

1  o  save  from  shame  and  thrall  : 

"i*^    my  heart  is  drawn  above 

My  knees  are  bow'd  in  crypt  and  shrine  • 
I  never  felt  the  kiss  of  love,  ' 

Nor  maiden's  hand  in  mine. 
More  bounteous  aspects  on  me  beam, 

Me  mightier  transports  move  and  thrill  • 
So  keep  1  fair  thro'  faith  and  prayer 

A  virgin  heart  in  work  and  will. 

When  down  the  stormy  crescent  goes, 

A  light  before  me  swims, 
Between  dark  stems  the  forest  glows. 

I  near  a  noise  of  hymns  : 
Then  by  some  secret  shrine  I  ride  • 

1  iiear  a  voice,  hut  none  are  there  ; 
1  he  stalls  are  void,  the  doors  are  wide. 

I  ne  tapers  burning  fair. 
*^*™,  Sleams  the  snowy  altar-cloth, 

Ti,     l^!  ,T  n*"'-**'^  *P=""'''e  clean, 
Tne  shnl   bell  rings,  the  censer  swings. 
And  solemn  chants  resound  betw?*n! 

Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain-meres 
I  find  a  magic  bark  ; 

I  fl''-.,"-",'?r'l','^-=  T  f'^'manan  steers: 
I  float  till  all  IS  dark. 

A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light  I 

ihree  angels  bear  the  holy  Grail : 


69 


EDWARD  GRAY.- LYRICAL  MONOLOGUE. 


With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 
A  Jy"  *'«P'ng  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision  !  blood  of  God  I 

My  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides, 

And  star-like  mingles  with  the'stars. 

When  on  my  goodly  charger  borne 

Ihro  dreaming  towns  I  go. 
The  cock  crows  ere  vhe  Christmas  morn. 
Ihe  streets  are  dumb  with  snow 
A^  '5"'P«st  crackles  on  the  leads, 
And,  ringing,  spins  from  brand  and  mail 
But  o'er  the  dark  a  glory  spreads,  ' 

And  gilds  the  driving  hail. 
I  leave  the  plain,  I  climb  the  height  : 
No  branchy  thicket  shelter  yields : 
Uut  blessed  forms  in  whistling  storms 
*  ly  o  er  waste  fens  and  windy  fields. 

A  maiden  knight  — to  me  is  given 

Such  hope,  I  know  not  fear  ■ 
I  yearn  to  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven 

1  nat  often  meet  me  here. 
I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease. 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams. 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odors  haunt  my  dreams.; 
And,  stricken  by  an  angel's  hand, 
This  mortal  armor  that  I  wear. 
This  weight  and  size,  this  heart  and  eyes. 
Are  touch'd,  are  turn'd  to  finest  air. 

The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky. 

And  thro'  the  mountain-walls 
A  rolling  organ-harmony 

Swells  up,  and  shakes  and  falls. 

«r"  '"°^^  ^^^  ^'■^"'  ^^^  copses  nod, 
«  Jv '"^^  nutter,  voices  hover  clear  : 

O  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God  I 

Kide  on  !  the  prize  is  near." 
bo  pass  r  hostel,  hall,  and  grange; 

All  ^rmM^  •^"'^  ^°'^'  Hy  P^*""^  ='"d  pale, 
Tr*^^i''l''^''^''a'«er  betide, 
Until  I  find  the  holy  Grail. 


EDWARD  GRAY. 

Sweet  Emma  Moreland  of  yonder  town 
„  ;^et  me  walking  on  yonder  wav. 
And  have  you  lost  your  heart?"  she  said  • 
And  are  you  married  yet,  Edward  Gray.?" 

Svveet  Emma  Moreland  spoke  to  me  • 
•<  o '""'?.  "'^eping  I  turn'd  away  : 
Sweet  Emma  Moreland,  love  no  more 
Can  touch  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray. 

"  Ellen  Adair  she  loved  me  well. 
Against  her  father's  and  mother's  wf! : 
li    t  J  ^*  '"'■  =»"  hour  and  wept, 
iiy  l!.llen  s  grave,  on  the  windy  hill. 

"  ^^J  *'^?  T^^'  a"'^  I  thought  her  cold  ; 

rniM  V^         ■  ?''?",i^'  ^"^  fled  over  the  sea  ; 
\A  ^  '^^',  ^^  ^°"y  ^"d  spite, 
wiien  ii^uen  Adair  was  dying  for  me. 


"  9.''"^',',  *=•■"*'  "^e  mortis  I  said  I 
Cruelly  came  they  back  to-day  : 
You  re  too  slight  and  fickle.'  I  said, 
lo  trouble  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray.» 

Whisper'd.  'Listen  to  my  despair  : 
I  repent  me  of  all  I  did : 
Speak  a  little,  Ellen  Adair  I ' 

"  l^^'X  ^  *°°^  a  pencil,  and  wrote 
,  iV"  "?.e  mossy  stone,  as  I  lay. 

Here  hes  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair; 

And  here  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray  I ' 

"  A°!i^«'"^?',*=°"'e,  and  love  may  go, 
R,^f  ^^^{^       =*  ^''^'  '"^°"'  '«e  to  tree : 
a-fi^'    '""T  I"?  '""'■e.  "o  more, 
lili  Ellen  Adair  come  back  to  me. 

"  ^'.tterly  wept  I  over  the  stone  : 
liitterly  weeping  I  turn'd  away : 

There  lies  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair  I 
And  there  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray  I" 


WILL  WATERPROOF'S   LYRICAL 
MONOLOGUE.  ^'''^^^^^ 

MADE  AT  THE  COCK. 

O  PLUMP  head-waiter  at  The  Cock. 

lo  which  I  most  resort. 
How  goe«the  time  ?    'T  is  five  o'clock. 

Go  fetch  a  pint  of  port :  ^ 
But  let  it  not  be  such  as  th& 

You  set  before  chance-comers, 
but  such  whose  father-grape  grew  fat 

Un  Lusitanian  summers. 

No  vain  libation  to  the  Muse. 

But  may  she  still  be  kind, 
And  whisper  lovely  words,  and  use 

Her  influence  on  ihe  mind, 
lo  make  me  write  my  random  rhymes. 

Ere  they  be  half-forgotten  ;  ^ 

^ST.,,    ,,1"'^  ?^fer,  many  times, 

1  111  all  be  ripe  and  rotten. 

I  pledge  her,  and  she  comes  and  dips 

Her  laurel  in  the  wine, 
■And  lays  it  thrice  upon  my  lips. 

These  favor'd  lips  of  mine  ; 
Until  the  chani!  have  power  to  make 

New  hfeblood  warm  the  bosom, 
And  barren  commonplaces  break 

In  full  and  kindly  blossom. 

I  pledge  her  silent  at  the  board  ; 

Her  gradual  fingers  steal 
And  touch  unon  the  mastwr-ohQi-'l 
Of  aii  I  felt  and  feel. 

A  ^'s^es,  ghosts  of  broken  plan% 

And  phantom  hopes  assemble  ; 
And  that  <  hiid's  heart  within  the  man's 

uegins  lu  move  and  tremble. 


Id  I 
day  : 
,'  1  said, 
dvvard  Gray.' 

grass  — 
despair : 

I' 

i-rote 

y. 

Adair; 
ard  Gray  I ' 

lay  go, 
;e  to  tree : 
ore, 
to  me. 


ay: 

idair  I 

ird  Gray  I " 


LYRICAL 

ock, 
o'clock. 


ewfat 


jse 
liymes, 

dips 


lake 
1. 


man'c 


Thro'  many  an  hour  of  summer  suns 

ey  many  pleasant  ways, 
Against  Its  fountain  upward  runs 

Ihe  current  of  my  days  : 
I  kiss  the  lips  I  once  have  kiss'd ; 

Ihe  gas-light  wavers  dimmer; 

xt  *°'"y'  *"''°'  ^  vinous  mist. 

My  college  friendships  glimmer. 

I  grow  in  worth,  and  wit,  and  sense. 

Unboding  critic-pen, 
*^r  that  eternal  want  of  pence, 
«7i     L  ,  ,^^*^^  P"''lic  men. 
Who  hold  their  hands  to  all,  and  cry 

t  or  that  which  all  deny  them,  — 
Who  sweep  the  crossings,  wet  or  dry. 

And  all  the  world  goljy  them. 

^^nZ^\'}^°'  *"  ""i  world  forsake, 

Iho  fortune  dip  my  wings, 
1  will  not  cramp  my  heart,  nor  take 

T    .firJ-^^"^^  "'^  "'«"  and  things. 
Let  Whig  and  Tory  stir  their  blood  ; 

Ihere  must  be  stormy  weather  ; 

A  ■■     ^°^^  ^"""^  '■esiilt  of  good 

All  parties  work  together. 

^V^fr,!"-^  ""''',!"'  ^^"^  a^e  grapes; 
If  old  things,  there  are  new  ;*    ^  "' 

Ten  thousand  broken  lights  and  shapes, 

Yet  glimpses  of  the  true. 

w'^i    ,     "^^ .'"  Pi'ose  and  rhyme. 

We  lack  not  rhymes  and  reasons, 
As  on  this  whirligig  of  Time 

We  circle  with  the  seasons.      , 

'^  w;fh  "f"-  'i  ^^  '"  ?^"  ^"'l  ""aid ; 
With  fair  horizons  bound  t 

This  whole  wide  earth  of  light  and  shade 

Comes  out,  a  perfect  round 
High  over  roaring  Temple-bar, 
T  1^1 '  je'">  Heaven's  third  story, 
I  look  at  all  things  as  they  are. 

But  thro'  a  kind  of  glory. 

Head-waiter,  honor'd  by  the  guest 

Half  mused,  or  reeling-ripe? 
The  pint,  you  brought  me,  was  the  best 

That  ever  came  from  pipe. 
But  tho  the  port  surpasses  praise, 

My  nerves  have  dealt  witfi  stiffen 
Is  there  some  magic  in  the  place  ? 

Or  do  my  peptics  differ? 

^  Nn'Sw'^  f  T- '°  "^^  ^nd  learn, 
Wo  pint  of  white  or  red 

Thu!,'^''^""  t^^.Power  to  turn 
This  wheel  within  my  head, 
WTiich  bears  a  season'd  brain  about. 
Unsubiect  to  confusion,  ' 

^Thro'tert"-''  ''''^'^'■'-  °"*  ^"'J  «"'. 
*nro  every  COB  volution. 

^wiff^  °^  a  numerous  house, 
With  many  kinsmen  gay, 

As  wi"„"«h*!l'*  largelyVe  carouse. 
As  Who  shall  say  me  nay : 


LYRICAL  MONOLOGUE. 


I  Each  month  a  birthday  coming  on, 

We  drink  defying  trouble, 
Or  sometimes  two  would  meet  in  one. 
And  then  we  drank  it  double ; 

^A^"'"  the  vintage,  yet  unkept. 

Had  rehsh  fierv-new, 

A  elbow-deep  in  sawdust,  slept. 

As  old  as  Waterloo ; 
Or  stow'd  (vvhen  classic  Canning  died) 

In  musty  bins  ^nd  chambers,  ^ 

«ad  cast  upon  its  crusty  side 

■I  ne  gloom  of  ten  Decembers, 

The  Muse,  the  jolly  Muse,  it  is  ! 
bhe  answer'd  to  my  call, 

bhe  changes  with  that  mood  or  this, 
Is  all-in-all  to  all :  ' 

She  lit  the  spark  within  my  throat, 
lo  make  my  blood  run  quicker, 

Used  all  her  ffery  will,  and  smote 
Her  life  into  the  liquor. 

And  hence  this  halo  lives  about 

The  waiter's  hands,  that  reach 
lo  each  his  perfect  pint  of  stout. 

His  proper  chop  to  each. 
He  looks  not  like  the  common  breed 

Ihat  with  the  napkin  dally; 
I  think  he  came  like  Ganymede, 

*  rom  some  delightful  valley. 

The  Cock  was  of  a  larger  egg 

Than  modern  poultry  dropf 
iJtept  forward  on  a  firmer  leg 

And  cramm'd  a  plumper  crop  : 
Upon  an  ampler  dunghfll  trod, 

Crow'd  lustier  late  and  early, 

^^  T"';'^:?'^  '"^^^>  praising  God, 
And  raked  ni  golden  barley. 

^  Private  life  was  all  his  jov, 
iill  m  a  court  he  saw 

A  something-pottle-bodied  boy. 
That  knuckled  at  the  taw 

Ffi^°P''^  ^""^  ?'"*^.''''^  !"■"''  ^-''^  and  good 
i- lew  over  roof  and  casement : 
His  brothers  of  the  weather  stood 
btock-still  for  sheer  amai^ement 

^  An^^V„*lf  *"^r?''*.«f!^'  'ho'Pe.  and  sp:-re. 

And  follow'd  with  acclaims, 
A  sign  to  many  a  staring  shire, 

Came  crowing  over  Thames. 
Kight  down  by  smoky  Paul's  they  bore, 

nn»  1'  ^'f '^  *''^  ^"■^«'  grows  straiter, 
One  fix'd  forever  at  the  door. 

And  one  became  head-waiter. 


71 


)? 


^"T^:5'?,r-y°V'd'ny  fancy  go! 
-—\-  out  oi  place  sne  makes 

Ihe  violet  of  a  legend  blow 
.JV'^/'nS  -"'e  chops  and  steaks  1 
1  IS  but  a  Stewart'  if  the  can, 
Une  shade  i  ore  p,  ,inp  than  common; 
As  just  and  mere.-  ■  r,  rving-man 
As  any,  bom  o    woman. 


Ht     ii 


7a 


rc? 


I  ranged  too  high  :  what  draws  me  down 

Into  the  common  day  ? 
Is  it  the  weight  of  that  half-crown, 

Which  I  shall  have  to  pay  ? 
For,  something  duller  than  at  first, 

Nor  wholly  comfortable, 
I  sit  (my  empty  glass  reversed), 

And  thrumming  on  the  table  : 

Half  fearful  that,  with  self  at  strife, 

I  take  myself  to  task  ; 
Lest  of  the  fulness  of  my  life 

I  leave  an  empty  flask: 
For  I  had  hope,  by  something  rare, 

To  prove  myselt  a  poet ; 
But,  while  I  plan  and  plan,  my  hair 

Is  gray  before  I  know  it. 

So  fares  it  since  the  years  began, 

Till  they  be  gather'd  up  ; 
The  truth,  that  flies  the  flowi.  g  can, 

Will  haunt  the  vacant  cup  : 
And  others'  follies  teach  us  not, 

Nor  much  their  wisdom  teaches; 
And  most,  of  sterling  worth,  is  what 

Our  own  experience  preaches. 

Ah,  let  the  rusty  theme  alone  I 

We  know  not  what  we  know 
But  for  my  pleasant  hour,  't  h-  ^::ae.. 

'T  is  gone,  and  let  it  go. 
'T  is  gone  :  a  thousand  swh  liJivi;  stipt 

Away  from  my  embrc-re  . 
And  fall'n  into  the  dusty  .    .(.-t 

Of  darken'd  forms  and  tacts, 

Go,  therefore,  thou  !  thy  betters  v-ent 

Long  since,  and  came  no  more  : 
With  peals  of  genial  clamor  sent 

From  many  a  tavern-door. 
With  twisted  quirks  and  happy  hits, 

From  misty  men  of  letters  ; 
The  tavern-hours  of  mighty  wits,  — 

Thine  elders  and  thy  betters. 

Hours,  when  the  Poet's  words  and  looks 

Had  yet  their  native  glow  : 
Not  yet  the  fear  of  little  books 

Had  made  him  talk  for  show  ; 
But,  all  his  vast  heart  sherris-warm'd, 

He  fiash'd  his  random  speeches  ; 
Ere  days,  that  deal  in  ana,  swarm'd 

His  literary  leeches. 

So  mix  forever  with  the  past, 

Like  all  good  things  on  earth  ! 
For  should  I  prize  thee,  couldst  thou  last. 

At  half  thy  real  worth  ? 
I  hold  it  good,  good  things  should  pass  : 

With  time  I  will  not  quarrel  : 
It  is  but  yonder  empty  class 

That  makes  me  maudlin-moral. 


Head-waiter  of  the  chop-house  here, 

To  which  I  most  resort, 
I  too  must  part :  I  hold  thee  dear 

For  this  good  pint  of  port. 


For  this,  thou  shalt  from  all  things  suck 
Marrow  of  mirth  and  laughter  ; 

And,  wheresoe'er  thou  move,  good  luck 
Shall  fling  her  old  shoe  after, 

But  thou  wilt  never  move  from  iience, 

The  sphere  thy  fate  allots  : 
Thy  latter  days  mcreased  with  pence 

Go  down  among  the  pots  ; 
Thou  battenest  by  the  greasy  gleam 

In  haunts  of  lumgjry  sinners, 
Old  boxes,  larded  with  the  steam 

Of  thirty  thousand  dinners. 

IVe  fret,  •  -e  fume,  would  shift  our  skint, 

Wou!''  .[uarrel  with  our  lot ; 
yAycare  is,  under  polish'd  tins. 

To  serve  the  hot-and-hot ; 
To  come  and  po,  and  come  a^ain, 

Returning  like  the  pewit, 
And  watch'd  by  silent  gentlemen, 

That  trifle  with  the  cruei. 

Live  lonjr,  ere  from  thy  topmost  head 

The  thick-set  hazel  dies  ; 
Long,  ere  the  hateful  crow  shall  tread 

The  corners  of  thine  eyes  : 
Live  long,  nor  feel  in  head  or  chest 

Our  changeful  equinoxes. 
Till  mellow  Death,  like  some  late  guest, 

Shall  call  thee  from  the  boxes. 

But  when  he  calls,  and  thou  shalt  cease 

To  pace  the  gritted  floor, 
And,  laying  down  an  unctuous  lease 

Of  life,  shall  earn  no  more  : 
No  carved  cross-bones,  the  types  of  Death, 

Shall  show  thee  past  to  Heaven  : 
But  carved  cross-pipes,  and,  underneath, 

A  piat-pot,  neatly  graven. 


TO 


AFTER    READING  A    LIFE  AND   LETTERS. 

"  Carsed  be  he  that  moves  iny  bones." 

Shakespeare's  Epitaph. 

You  might  have  won  the  Poet's  name, 
If  such  be  worth  the  winning  now. 
And  gain'd  a  laurel  for  your  brow 

Of  sounder  leaf  than  I  can  claim  ; 

But  yon  have  made  the  wi.ser  choice, 
A  life  that  moves  to  gracious  ends 
Thro'  troops  of  unrecording  friends, 

A  deedful  life,  a  silent  voice  : 

And  you  have  miss'd  the  irreverent  doom 
Of  those  that  wear  the  Poet's  crown  : 
iiereafier,  neither  knave  nor  clown 

Shall  hold  their  orgies  at  your  tomb. 

For  now  the  Poet  cannot  die 
Nor  leave  his  music  as  of  old. 
But  round  him  ere  he  scarce  be  cold 

Begins  the  scandal  and  the  cry : 


I 


« 

hings  suck 
ter; 

good  luck 
r. 

t 

tn  henca, 

J  pence 

gleam 

• 

s, 

earn 

■ 

't  our  skins, 

ns, 

jain, 

^  " 

men, 

ost  head 

all  tread 

:  chest 

late  guest, 
xes. 

shah  cease 

IS  lease 

^pes  of  Death, 
laven  : 
underneath. 


ND   LETTERS. 

y  bones." 
\re's  Epitafh, 

et's  name, 
ng  now, 
r  brow 
laim  ; 

•  choice, 
us  ends 
g  friends, 


sverent  doom 
it's  crown ; 
ir  clown 
r  tomb. 


)ld, 

:e  b«  cold 

■y: 


I 


j.^JtaJidi-JM-'aNiii-iriJf  II  \<» ' 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


2.5 


|50     "^■i 

"■■   KiS    12.2 


us 

Ui 
u 


lAO 


11-25  111111.4 


2.0 


1.6 


<^ 


/: 


Vj^ 


'V^ 

'> 


> 


Piiotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4S03 


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# 


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^ 


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V 


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I 


'  Lord  Ronald  broiiglit  a  lily-white  doe 
To  give  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare." 


} 


^N 


m 


^j^ 


;n^ 


Proclaim  the  faults  he  would  not  show: 
Hreak  lock  and  seal  :  betray  the  trust : 
Keep  noihiiiB  sacred  :  'tis  but  just 
Ihe  many-headed  beast  should  know." 

Ah  shameless  !  for  he  did  but  sing 
A  song  that  pleased  us  from  its  worth  • 
JNo  public  life  was  his  on  earth, 

No  blazon'd  statesman  he,  nor  king. 

He  gave  the  people  of  his  best : 
H.is  worst  he  kept,  his  best  he  gave. 
My   Shakespeare's    curse  on   clown  and 
knave 

Who  will  not  let  his  ashes  rest  I 

Who  make  it  seem  more  sweet  to  oa 
Ihe  httle  life  of  bank  and  brier. 
The  bird  that  pipes  his  lone  desire 

And  dies  unheard  within  his  tree, 

^^A^}^  ""^^  warbles  long  and  loud 
And  drops  at  Glory's  temple-gates. 
*  or  whom  the  carrion  vulture  waits 

10  tear  his  heart  before  the  crowd  1 


TO  E.  L.-LADY  CLARE. 


73 


TO    E.    L.,    ON    HIS    TRAVELS    IN 
GREECE. 

Illvkian  woodlands,  echoing  <alls 
Of  water,  sheets  of  summer  glass, 
'i-u         ""f^  divine  Peneian  pass, 
1  he  vast  Akrokeraunian  walls, 

Tomohrit,  Athos,  all  things  fair. 
With  such  a  pencil,  such  a  pen. 
You  shadow  forth  to  distant  men. 

I  read  and  felt  that  I  was  there  : 

And  trust  me  while  I  tum'd  Mie  paee 
And  track'd  you  still  on  classic  ground 
I  grevv  m  gladness  till  I  found 

My  spirits  in  the  golden  age. 

For  me  the  torrent  ever  pour'd 
And  glisten ;d- here  and  there  alone 
1  he  broad-hmb'd  Gods  at  random  thrown 

By  fountam-urns  ;  -  and  Naiads  oar'd 

A  glimmering  .shoulder  under  gloom 

0(  cavern  pillars  ;  on  the  swell 

1  he  silver  l.ly  heaved  and  fell  • 
And  many  a  slope  ivas  rich  in  bloom 

From  him  that  on  the  mountain  lea 
By  dancing  rivulets  kd  his  flocks, 

An!?  fl  ."V'''°.'*=*'  "P°"  "le  rocks, 
And  fluted  to  the  morning  sea 


LADY  CLARE. 
It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow, 

Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doo 
I  o  give  his  cousin.  Lady  Clare. 


I  trow  ti,-y  did  not  part  in  scorn  • 
Lovers  long-belroth'd  were  they : 

Ihey  too  will  wed  the  morrow  morn  • 
God  s  blessing  on  the  day  ! 

"  ?T^  ^J^^  "°'  '°^^  "le  '°'"  "ly  birth. 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair : 

A    1^^  "^^  '°''  '"y  ow"  <rue  worth. 
And  that  IS  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse 
baid,  "  Who  was  this  that  went  from  thee  ? " 
It  vyas  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 
J.o-morrow  he  weds  with  me.' 

"  "  n^"^  ''fi  "'^"''''^ '  "  s^'i'l  A''«  the  nurse, 
I  „  J  p     •''V  ,'^°T*-  '■"'i"''  ^°  J"st  and  fair : 
Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands. 
And  yoi  are  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

'^^'^  ifurs°e""°^  ^°'"'  "'""^'  '"y  ""^^«'  "^y 

"  ^^^c]:a^^  V''"'^'.."  "^^'  ye.speak  so  wild.'  " 
As  God  s  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
I  speak  the  truth :  you  are  my  child. 

"  The  old  Earl's  daughter  died  at  my  breast  ; 
r  u  speak  the  truth,  as  I  live  by  brear'  ' 
i  bulled  her  like  my  own  sweet  child 
And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"  Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 
O  mother, '•  she  said,  "  if  this  be  true, 

-  o  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
bo  many  years  from  his  due." 

Uiit  ^eep  the  secret  for  your  life. 
And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's, 
when  you  are  man  and  wife." 

"  M}  ''??,='  beggar  born,"  she  said, 
i>  11    a     ^P'^^h.'""'  '«'■  f  '••■•'■e  not  lie. 
"i    J  i.P""  ^^^  "'e  broach  of  gold 
And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by." 

"  "^i^,  ?r'  "^l  '='"''''•"  ^="'^  Alice  the  nurse 
But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can  "  ^ 

bhe  said  "Not  so  :  but  I  will  know 
It  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  Nav  now,  what  faith  ? "  said  Alice  the  nursi 
..  A    _■  .  "1?"  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 
And  he  shall  h.ive  it,"  the  lady  replied, 
Iho  I  should  die  to-night." 

"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear  I 
..  ,'^'^^'  !"y  '^'"'''''  I  sinn'd  for  thee." 
O  mother,  mother,  mother,"  she  said, 
bo  strange  it  seems  to  me. 

"  w'  '^^"'^  '*  ^  "^'ss  '""'■  "ly  mother  dear 
My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so, 
A   'j'y  V""'  band  upon  my  head, 
And  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  go." 

She  clad  herself  in  a  russet  gown, 
bhe  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare : 


\.? 


1 


74 


She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by  down, 
With  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 

The  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald  had  brought 
Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay  ^ 

Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand, 
And  follow'd  her  all  the  way. 

Down  stept  Lord  Ronald  from  his  tower : 
•u/i  °y  *-'*''^'  y°"  shame  your  worth  I 

Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid 
Ihat  are  the  flower  of  the  earth  ?'• 

"  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid. 
1  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are  • 
^.^\^  l^eggar  born,"  she  said. 
And  n6t  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  S'^y  "1^  ""  "■'<=l's,."  said  Lord  Ronald, 
i'or  I  am  yours  in  word  and  in  deed. 

Play  me  no  f neks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 

O  and  proudly  stood  she  up  ! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail :     ■ 
bhe  look  d  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes. 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 

He  laugh'd  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn  ; 
He  turn'd,  and  kiss'd  her  where  she  stood 
If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born. 
And  I,    said  he,  "  the  next  in  blood  — 


T//£  LOUD  OF  BURLEIGH. 


"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  bom. 
And  I,"  said  he,  "the  lawful  heir, 

We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn, 
And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare  " 


THE  LORD  OF  BURLEIGH. 

iN.her  ear  he  whispers  gayly. 

If  .  ^"  heart  by  signs  can  tell. 
Maiden,  I  have  watch'd  thee  daily. 
And  I  think  thdu  lov'st  me  well." 
^".^  j;,y''es,  m  accents  fainter, 

.1  here  is  none  I  love  like  thee." 
We  IS  but  a  landscape-painter, 

And  a  village  n:aiden  she. 
He  to  lips,  that  fondly  falter, 
Presses  his  without  reproof: 
*    J  '',er  to  the  village  altar, 
^^  And  they  leave  her  father's  roof. 
I  can  make  no  marriage  present  ; 
Little  cap  I  give  my  wife. 
Love  will  make  our  cottage  pleasant, 

And  I  love  thee  more  than  life." 
I  hey  by  parks  and  lodges  going 

See  the  lordly  castles  stand  ; 
'>""?mer  woods,  about  them  blowing. 
V  ^^°f  ^  "lurmur  in  the  land. 
trom  deep  thought  himself  he  rouses. 
^^  bays  to  her  that  loves  him  well, 

kfrl  "*  '*';'*  "'^■''^  handsome  houses 
Where  the  wealthy  nobles  dwell." 
bo  she  goes  by  him  attended, 
Hears  him  lovingly  converse, 


Sees  what.^ver  fair  and  splendid 

Lay  betwixt  his  home  and  hers  ; 

Parks  with  oak  and  chestnut  shady 

I'arks  and  order'd  gardens  great 

Ancient  homes  of  lord  and  lady. 

Built  for  pleasure  and  for  state 

All  ha  shows  her  makes  him  dearer  • 

iivermore  sne  .seems  to  gaze 
On  that  cottage  growing  nearer, 

Where  they  twain  N.'iH  spend  llieii  days 
O  but  she  will  love  him  truly  i  ^ 

He  .shpll  have  a  cheerful  home  : 
She  will  order  all  things  duly. 

When  beneath  his  roof  they  come 
Ihus  her  heart  rejoices  greatly, 

Iill  a  gateway  she  discerns 
With  armorial  benrings  stately 

And  beneath  the  gate  she  turns  ■ 
bees  a  ni.insion  more  majestic 

ihon  all  those  she  saw  before  • 
Many  a  gallant  gay  domestic       ' 
Bows  before  him  at  the  door. 
u//''^yuP"'' '"  gentle  murmur. 
«7r-,    ."  "^ey  answer  to  his  call. 
While  he  treads  with  footstep  firmer 
.  ^^''d'ni?  on  from  hall  to  hall 
And,  while  now  she  wonders  blindly 
JVor  the  meaning  can  divine, 

°  A,7  V^"?  ''"^  ''°""'l  and  kindly, 
A]  of  this  IS  mine  and  thine.'' 
Here  he  lives  in  state  and  bounty, 
N.VJI  °i  ?""■  eigh,  fair  a..d  free        ' 
Not  a  lord  m  all  the  county 

Is  so  great  a  lord  as  he. 
All  at  once  the  color  flushes 

Her  sweet  face  from  brow  to  chin  ■ 
As  It  were  with  shame  she  blushes.  " 

And  her  spirit  changed  within. 
i  lien  her  countenance  all  over 

Pale  again  as  death  did  prove ; 
But  he  cFaso'd  her  like  a  lover. 

And  he  cheer'd  her  soul  with  love 

bo  she  strove  against  her  weakness. 

ou      J  l'  "T'e*  ''e''  spirits  sank : 

'?''^1,  i""  ^^^"  "''h  woman's  meekness 
To  all  duties  of  her  rank :  ^"^Kness 

-'^nd  a  gentle  consort  made  he, 

And  her  gentle  mind  was  such 

I  1  hat  she  grew  a  noble  lady. 

And  the  people  loved  her  much 

i.ut  a  trouble  weigh'd  upon  her. 

With  the  burden  of  an  honor 

Unto  which  she  was  not  bom 
I'aint  she  grew,  and  ever  fainter. 

As  she  murmur'd,  "O,  that  he 

WhiT  1!r°''-^  "'"'  iandscape-painter. 
Which  did  win  my  heart  from  me  '  " 

oo  she  droop'd  and  drpop'd  before  him, 
Fading  slowly  from  his  side : 

Ihree  fair  children  first  she  bore  him, 
1  hen  before  her  time  she  died. 

Weeping,  weeping  late  and  early, 
w  S'KiiiK  up  and  pacing  down, 
R^rT'^"' ''  t  'e  Lord  of  Burleigh, 
Burfeigh-house  by  Stamford-townf  ' 
A  |]l<^ame  to  look  upon  her 
And  hf.  iook'd  at  her  and  said, 


,t 


ileridl4 

md  hers ; 

luit  shady, 

siis  great, 

d  lady, 

3r  stale. 

im  dearer  : 

gaze 

earcr, 

pend  iheir  days. 

Illy ! 

I  home  ; 

Illy, 

they  come. 

satly, 

rns 

itely, 

e  turns ; 

Stic 

lefore  : 

;ic 

iooT. 

iiirmur. 

i  call, 

ep  firmer, 

hall. 

rs  blindly, 

ine, 

I  kindly, 

thine.'' 

lounty, 

d  free, 


'  to  chin : 

)lushes, 

ithin. 

ver 

rove  ; 

'er, 

nth  love. 

!akness, 

ank: 

in's  meekness 

>e, 
iucli 

much, 

ler, 

nd  :aom, 

im. 
Iter, 
the 

pe-painter, 
om  me !  " 
lefore  him, 

ore  him, 

ied. 

irly, 

Burleigh, 

l-town. 

r, 

id. 


Bring  tne  dress  and  put  it  on  her, 

Ihat  she  wore  when  she  was  wod  " 
I  hen  her  people,  softly  treading,  ' 

Bore  to  earth  her  body,  drest 
In  the  dress  that  she  was  wed  in. 

That  her  spirit  might  have  rest. 

SIR  LAUNCELOT  AND  QUEEN 

A   FRAGMENT. 

Like  souls  that  balance  joy  and  pain. 
With  tears  and  smiles  from  heaven  again 
1  he  maiden  Spring  upon  the  plain 
tame  in  a  sunlit  fall  of  rain. 

In  crystal  vapor  everywhere 
Lkie  ,sles  of  heaven  laugh'd  between, 
And,  far  in  forest-deeps  unseen, 
1  he  topmost  elm-tree  gather'd  green 

irom  draughts  of  balmy  air. 

Sometimes  the  linnet  piped  his  song  : 
Sometimes  the  throstle  whistled  stronn  • 
hTm^h' !,'''-  «P3'-l«wk,  wheel'd  along, 
Hush  d  all  the  groves  from  fear  of  wrong  • 

By  grassy  capes  with  fuller  sound 
In  curves  the  yellowing  river  ran. 
And  drooping  chestnut-buds  began 
i  o  spread  into  the  perfect  fan. 

Above  the  teeming  ground. 

Then,  in  the  boyhood  of  the  y»ar. 
Sir  Launcelot  and  Queen  Guinevere 
u/°.u  . 'r"^  ^y^  ^<3yens  of  the  deer. 
With  bhssful  treble  ringing  clear 

She  seem'd  a  part  of  joyous  Spring ; 
A  gown  of  grass-green  silt  .she  wore. 
Buck  ed  wuh  golden  clasps  before ; 
A  hglit-green  tuft  of  plumts  she  bore 

Closed   1  a  >;oIden  ring. 

Now  on  lome  twisted  ivy-i.et 
Now  by  some  tirntling  rivulet,' 
In  mojses  mixt  v/ith  violet 

f  !?«■*''''*  "'"'^  "I's  pastern  set  ; 

And  fleeter  now  she  skimm'd  the  jlain^ 
Than  she  whose  elfin  prancer  springs  ' 
By  n'glit  to  ^ery  warblings,  ^ 

w?.K  '.he  gfimmering  moorland  rings 

With  Jingling  bridle-reins.  ^ 

rU\\^^^  ^''■V^'°'  '=""  and  shade, 
1  he  happy  winds  upon  her  play'd 
li°«''"g  ,'f  e  ringlet  from  the  braid  : 
She  look  d  so  lovely,  as  she  sway'd 
1  he  rein  with  dainty  finKer-tios 
AnH^I-'l'-'^  given  all  other  bHss.  '^  ' 
And  ah  his  worldly  worth  for  this 

Unn?h'  ^''°';  '^«-''''  in  one  kiss 
upon  her  perfect  lips. 


Flow,  softly  flow,  by  lawn  and  lea, 
A  rivulet  then  a  river :  ' 

For"^  "^y  'hee  my  steps  shall  be, 
!•  orevcr  Slid  fore /er. 

^  An!?  h/"''.',  ■'«''  '^'"^  '''der  tree, 
And  here  thine  aspei.  shiver; 

And  here  by  thee  will  hum  the  bee, 
t  orever  and  forever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 
A  thousand  moons  will  quiver;     ' 

Bint  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 
Forevei  and  forever.  " 


THE  BEGGAR  MAID. 
Hkr  arms  across  her  breast  she  laid  • 

ohe  was  more  fair  than  words  can  sav  • 
B,i letooted  came  the  beggar  maid         ^' 

Before  the  king  Cophetua. 
In  robe  and  crown  the  king  slept  down 
.,  lo  meet  and  greet  her  on  her  wayT' 
It  IS  no  wonder,"  said  the  lords,   ^ 
bhe  IS  more  beautiful  than  day." 

As  shines  the  moon  in  clouded  skies. 

bhe  in  her  poor  attire  was  seen  : 
One  praised  her  ankles,  one  her  eyes 

One  her  dark  hair  and  lovesome  mien 
So  sweet  a  face,  such  angel  grace, 

In  all  that  land  had  never  been  ■ 

.PJ?.t'"\^^''"'e  -■  '■°yal  oath  : 
Ihis  beggar  maid  shall  be  my  queen  I  " 

THE  VISION  OF  SIN. 


75 


A  FAREWELL. 

!^fet/S,^^^!;e!^"--. 


T  .  '• 

i  "*°  a  vision  when  the  night  was  late  • 
A  youth  came  riding  toward  a  palace  gate 
He  rode  a  horse  w-'th  wings,  that  woul^'haVe 

Andfrom  ih'^T  "■''"  ''^P'  him  down. 
An5  ;  T  u-    f  ='ace  came  a  child  of  sin 

Wh'er'e  sat'l'in"^'  '"^'^'  ^"^  '"'  ^i '"  in, 
F.\,/„.-         L°'"Pany  with  heated  eves 

As  S  If  ^'  "P°"  "'="■  "'"^-s  and  lips  - 
As  when  the  sun,  a  crescent  of  ecliose 

,  ""capeT-'"'^  ''"'  '-vn?andtres  and 

'  BySs*',i?'^n''''^'"^'  'P"P.'  languid  shapes, 

n'^U.^f  "'■''^'  ^"^  «1''°«  of  wine,  and 
piles  of  grapes.  ' 

Then  rnethought  I  heard  a  mellow  sound 
Gathering  vp  from  all  the  lower  ground  • 
Narrow.ng  in  to  where  they  sat  assembled 
Low  VoluDtUOliS  mu»ic  vinHi^-  <        ui    - 

^-'y^"circlesfrhty\rafh^  3=fs&d 
Panted  hand  in  hand  with  faces  nale 
Swung^^themselves,  and  in'low'^tnes   re- 

Sl'iif  "if  ^""^^'VPo^'ed,  showering  wida 
Sleet  of  diamond-drifl  and  pearly  haiT! 


76 


THE  Vision  of  sin. 


if 


Then  the  music  toiich'd  the  gates  and  died  ; 
Rose  again  from  where  it  seeni'd  to  fail, 
Storm'd  in  orbs  of  song,  a  growing  gale  ; 
Till   thronging  in   and  in,,  to  where    they 

waited. 
As  't  were  a  hundred-throated  nightingale, 
1  he. strong  tempestuous  treble  throbb'd  and 

palpitated  ; 
Ran  into  its  giddiest  whirl  of  sound. 
Caught  the  sparkles,  and  in  circles. 
Purple  gauzes,  golden  hazes,  liquid  mazes, 
Flung  the  torrent  rainbow  round  : 
TliWjAey  started  from  their  places, 
M««p*ith  violence,  changed  in  hue, 
CaiMnt  each  other  with  wild  grimaces, 
Halt-mvisible  to  the  view. 
Wheeling  with  precipitate  paces 
To  the  melody,  till  they  flew. 
Hair,  and  eyes,  and  limbs,  and  faces. 
Twisted  hard  in  fierce  embraces. 
Like  to  Furies,  like  to  Graces, 
Dash'd  together  in  blinding  dew : 
Till,  kill'd  with  some  luxurious  agony. 
The  nerve-dissolving  melody 
Flutter'd  headlong  Irom  the  sky. 


And  then  \  look'd  up  toward  a  mountain- 
tract, 
That  girt  the  region  with  hich  cliff  and  lawn  : 
I  saw  that  every  morning,  far  withdrawn 
^eyond  the  darkness  and  the  cataract, 
God  made  himself  an  awful  rose  of  dawn. 
Unheeded  :  and  detaching,  fold  by  fold, 
\  rom  those  still  heights,  and,  slowly  draw- 
ing neir, 
A  vapor  hea\  y,  hueless,  formless,  cold. 
Came  floating  on  for  many  a  month  and 

year. 
Unheeded :  and  I  thought  I  would   have 

spoken. 
And  warned  that  madman  ere  it  grew  too 

late: 
But,  as  in  dreams,  I  could  not.    Mine  was 

broken, 
When  that  cold  vapor  touch'd  the  palace 

.pate. 
And  Imk'd  again.     I  saw  within  my  head 
A  gray  and  gap-tooth'd  man  as  lean  as  death, 
Who  slowly  rode  across  a  wither'd  heath. 
And  lighted  at  a  ruin'd  inn,  and  said  : 


Wrinkled  hostler,  grim  and  thin  I 
Here  is  custom  come  your  way ; 
Take  my  bnite,  and  lead  him  in, 
Stuff  his  ribs  with  mouldy  hay. 

"  Bitter  barmaid,  waning  fast  I 
See  that  sheets  are  on  my  bed  ; 

What  I  the  flower  of  life  is  past : 
It  is  long  before  you  wed. 

"  Slip-shod  waiter,  lank  and  sour, 
At  the  Dragon  on  the  heath  I 

Let  us  have  a  quiet  hour. 
Let  us  hob-and-nob  with  Death. 


"  I  am  old,  but  let  me  drink  ;      . 

Bring  me  spices,  bring  me  wine  ; 
I  remember,  when  1  think. 

That  my  youth  was  half  divine. 

"  ^,',"*  '^  ?°"^  '"'"■  shrivell'd  lips. 
When  a  blanket  wraps  the  day. 

When  the  rotten  woodland  drips 
And  the  leaf  is  stamp'd  in  clay! 

"  ?M  "\**,  ^°^^"'  ^"d  liave  no  shame, 
,.,\:"^'^«  by  jowl,  and  knee  by  knee  : 

1.?.'  "'■'^  '  '"'■  ^"y  name.' 

What  for  order  or  degree  ? 

"  Let  me  screw  thee  up  a  peg : 
Let  me  loose  thy  tongue  with  v. ins: 

Callest  thou  that  thing  a  leg? 
Which  is  thinnest .'  thine  or  mine  ? 

"  Thou  shalt  not  be  saved  by  works : 

Thou  hast  been  a  sinner  too  : 
Ruin'd  trunks  on  wither'd  forks. 

Empty  scarecrows,  I  and  you  I 

"  Fill  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can : 
Have  a  rouse  before  the  morn  : 

Every  moment  dies  a  man. 
Every  moment  one  is  bom. 

"  We  are  men  of  ruin'd  blood  ; 

Therefore  comes  it  we  are  wise.  * 
Fish  are  we  that  love  the  mud. 

Rising  to  no  fancy-ilies. 

"  Name  and  fame  !  to  fly  sublime 
Through  the  courts,  the  camps,  the  schools, 

Is  to  be  the  ball  of  Time, 
Bandied  in  the  hands  of  fools. 

"  Friendship  !—  to  be  two  in  one  — 

Let  th-  canting  liar  pack  ! 
Well  I  know,  when  I  am  pone, 

How  she  mouths  behind  my  back. 

"  Virtue  I  —  to  be  good  and  just  — 

Every  heart,  when  sifted  well. 
Is  a  clot  of  warmer  dust, 

Mix'd  with  cunning  sparks  of  hell. 


"  O  !  we  two  as  well  can  look 
Whited  thought  and  cleanly  life 

As  the  priest,  above  his  book 
Leering  at  his  neighbor's  wife. 

"  Fill  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can  : 
Have  a  rouse  before  the  morn : 

Every  moment  dies  a  man. 
Every  moment  one  is  born. 

"  Drink,  and  let  the  parties  rave : 
They  are  fill'd  with  idle  spleen ; 

Rising,  falling,  like  a  wave. 
For  they  know  not  what  they  mean. 


e  wine  ; 
divine. 

d  lips, 
e  day, 
drips, 
1  clay. 

10  shame, 
by  knee : 


)vuli  v,in«: 

■  ? 

or  mine  ? 


y  works : 

00 : 
srks, 
yrou  I 

in : 
torn: 

1. 

wise. 
Id, 


3lime 

nps,  the  schools, 

lols. 


le, 

ly  back. 


T/f£    VISION  OF  Sm. 


list  — 
ell, 

of  hell. 


^life 
ife. 

rn: 


ive : 
en; 

y  mean. 


"  He  that  roars  for  liberty 
Faster  binds  a  tyrant's  power ; 

And  tlie  tyrant's  cruel  glee 
Forces  on  the  freer  hour. 

"  Fill  th«  can,  and  fill  the  cup: 
All  the  windv  ways  of  men 

Are  but  dust  tliat  rises  up, 
And  is  iightly  laid  again. 

"  Greet  her  with  applausive  breath, 
Freedom,  gayly  doth  she  tread  ; 

In  her  right  a  civic  wreath, 
In  her  left  a  human  head. 

"  No,  I  love  not  wHat  is  new  ; 

She  is  of  an  ancient  house: 
And  I  think  we  know  the  hue 

Of  that  cap  upon  her  brows. 

"  (in  ''"  ?"  '  ''=•■  "'''■"  she  slakes 
where  the  bloodv  conduit  runs  : 

Then  her  sweetest  meal  she  makes 
On  the  first-born  of  her  sons. 

"  Drink  to  lofty  hopes  that  cool  — 
Visions  of  a  perfect  State  : 

Drink  we,  last,  the  public  fool. 
Frantic  love  and  frantic  hate 

'  ^l"*"*  '"^  "°w  some  wicked  stave. 

Till  thy  drooping  courage  rise. 
And  the  glow-worm  of  tl.;  grave 
Glimmer  in  thy  rheumy  eyes. 

"  Fear  not  thou  to  loose  thy  tongue  ; 

Set  thy  hoary  fancies  free ; 
What  IS  loathsome  to  the  young 

Savors  well  to  thee  and  me. 

"  firu"*^*',  '■^^^'■''"g  to  the  years, 
When  thy  nerves  could  understand 

What  there  is  in  loving  tears. 
And  the  warmth  of  hand  in  hand. 

"Tell  me  tales  of  thy  first  love  — 
April  hopes,  the  fools  of  chance  : 

111!  the  graves  begin  to  move. 
And  the  dead  begin  to  dance. 

"  ^'n  "^*  ^""'  *"'•  fi"  ^'le  cup  • 
All  the  windy  ways  of  men 

Are  but  dust  that  rises  up. 
And  is  lightly  laid  again. 

"Trooping  from  their  mouldv  dens 
W.I     '=''^P-f?"e"  circle  spreads  : 
Welcome,  fellow-citizens, 
ilollow  hearts  and  empty  heads  J 

"  ^°"  '"■^  ^^^t%,  and  what  of  that  ? 

^verv  face,  however  full, 
i'added  round  with  flesh  and  fat, 

Is  but  modell'd  on  a  skull. 


"  Death  is  king,  and  Vivat  Rex  I 
1  read  a  measure  on  the  stone^ 

Madam  —  if  I  know  your  sex. 
From  the  fashion  of  your  bones. 

"  No,  I  cannot  praise  the  fire 

n  your  eye -nor  yet  your  lip : 
All  the  more  do  I  admire 
Joints  of  cunning  workmanship. 

"  ^};?°^''  i''',?■","^-  ''^6  ground-plan  - 
Neither  modell'd,  glazed,  oF  framed : 

Uiiss  me,  thou  rough  sketch  of  man. 
*  ar  too  naked  to  be  shamed  I 

"  ^vu^  *°  Fortune,  drink  to  Chance, 
While  we  keep  a  little  breath  ! 

Drink  to  heavy  Ignorance  I 
Hob-and-nob  with  brother  Death  I 

"  Thou  art  mazed,  the  night  is  long, 
„  And  the  longer  night  is  near : 
What  1  I  am  not  all  as  wrong 
As  a  bitter  jest  is  dear. 

"  y.?u ''^'^^'  ''°P*^'  ''y  scores,  to  all. 
When  the  locks  are  crisp  and  curl'd  : 

Unto  me  my  maudlin  gall 
And  my  mockeries  of  the  world. 

"  Fill  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can  ! 

Mingle  madness,  mingle  scorn  I 
Dregs  of  life,  and  lees  of  man  : 

Yet  we  will  not  die  forlorn." 


'^''^^oj^^grew  faint:  there  came  a  further 

Once  more    uprose    the    mystic  mountain- 
range : 

Below  were  men  and  horses  pierced  with 
worms, 

R!!!'^i"°'^'^  quickening  into  lower  forms  ; 
By   shards  and  scurf  of  salt,  and  scum  of 

dross, 
Old  plash  of  rains,  and  refuse  patch'd  with 

moss. 
Then  some  one  spake :  "  Behold  I  it  was  a 

crime 
Of  sense  avenged  by  sense  that  wore  with 

time." 
Another  said:  "  The  crime  of  sense  became 
1  ne  crime  of  malice,  and  is  equal  blame  " 
And  one :  "'  He  had  not  wholly  quench'd  his 

power ; 
A  little  grain  of  conscience  made  him  sour." 
At  last  1  heard  a  voice  upon  the  slope 
t-ry  to  the  summit,  "  Is  there  any  hope.'" 
To  which  an  answer  peal'd  from  that  high 

land,  ^ 

But  in  a  tongue  no  man  could  understand  ; 
rA  O"  'he  glimmering  limit  far  withdrawn 
Ood  made  Himself  an  awful  rose  of  dawn. 


77 


7« 


THE  EAGLE.  ~  THE  POETS  SONG. 


Come  not,  when  I  am  dead, 

T^**^,,     P  "'^ '°r''''' ,'"■■»  "Pon  my  grave, 
1  o  trample  round  my  fallen  head, 

And  vex  the  unhappy  dust  thou  wouldst 

not  save. 

There  let  the  wind  sweep  and  the  plovercry : 

l3Ut  thou,  go  by.  ' 

Child,  if  it  were  thine  error  or  thy  crime 

1  care  no  longer,  being  all  unblest : 
Wed  whom  thou  wilt,  but  1  am  sick  of  Time, 
And  I  desire  to  ftst.  ' 

Pass  on,  weak  heart,  and  leave  me  where  I 
lie: 
Go  by,  go  by. 


THE  EAGLE. 

FRAGMENT. 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  honked  hands: 
Close  to  the  sun  m  lonely  lands. 
Ring  d  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 
The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls  ; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls. 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls 


*^V^  "stwafd,  happy  earth,  and  leave 
Yon  orange  sunset  waning  slow  : 

From  fringes  of  the  faded  eve, 

„,."•  nappy  planet,  eastward  go  ; 

liU  over  thy  dark  shoulder  glow 
1  hy  silver  sister-world,  and  rise 
lo  glass  herself  in  dewy  eyes 

That  watch  me  from  the  glen  below. 

AK  bear  me  with  thee,  lightly  borne, 
Dip  forward  under  starry  light,       ' 

t^V  "1^  '^  '"y  marri^ge-mom, 
And  round  again  to  happy  night 


Break,  break,  break. 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea  I 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

1  he  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

O  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy. 

1  hat  he  shout.s  with  his  sister  at  plav  I 
O  well  for  the  sailor  lad,  «P'ayi 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  I 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 
R.I  n  f  ".u*"^"  \'"d<=''  "le  hill : 

l?A  (hV'"'  *°,"=';  °''''  ^«"is'''d  hand. 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still  I 

Break,  break,  break, 

Ti.'f^'.i"'^  '°^'  "'""'y  "■■"^S'  O  Sea  I 

Wi  Vevpr'.'  ^'■■'"k  "[■■*  ''•''y  "^^'  i*  dead 
wui  never  come  back  to  me. 


THE   POET'S  SONG. 

The  rain  had  fallen,  the  Poet  arose. 
He  pass'd  by  the  town  aid  out  of  the  street 

i^H  u^'"''  ^l^^l  ^""^  "'«  ^^'^^  °f  'he  su'l' 
t<r^AtT  ^^V^^^^^°^-^^^^^  over  the  wheal 
A°  ,    !^'  him  down  in  a  lonely  place 
And  chanted  a  melody  loud  and  sweet, 
An^t?  ^"f  ^''d-^«'an  pause  in  her  cloud. 
And  the  lark  drop  down  at  his  feet. 

The  swallow  stppt  as  he  hunted  the  bee. 
I'u  "*.f  "al^e  shpt  under  a  spray, 

"'beak''*''  ^'"""^  '^'"'  ''**  ^°''"  °"  his 
And  stared,  with  his  foot  on  the  prev 
And  the  nightingale  thought,  "  I  have  suns 
many  songs. 
But  never  a  one  so  gay, 
Foj  he  sings  of  what  the  worid  will  be 
When  the  years  have  died  away." 


li 


And 

A. 

And  tha 

A  good  ; 

Wfth  all 

»..       *" 
Dived  ii 

kr 

Half-lea< 

Who  laTc 

And  mix 

Her  owr 


if 

I 


"Onoblt 


THE  PRINCESS:  A  MEDLEY. 


79 


OSea! 

e  could  utter 

n  rae. 

ister  at  play  I 
on  tlie  bay  I 


hill; 

lish'd  hand, 
that  is  still  I 


)Seal 

y  that  is  dead 

ne. 


)ONG. 

t  arose, 

out  of  the  street, 
;ates  of  the  sun, 
over  the  wheat, 
lely  place, 
1  and  sweet, 
se  in  her  cloud, 
his  fee{. 

:d  the  bee, 

ay, 

le  down  on  his 

1  the  prey, 

"  I  have  sung 


1  will  be 
way," 


THE    PRINCESS 


A    MEDLEY. 


TO 


HENRY  LUSHINGTON 

THIS    VOLt;MK     ,S     INSCRIBED    BV     „,s     p„,hnd 


PROLOGUE. 

Gave^u'h  "7/^'^''  '^^  ^  summer's  day 
TTn  ,    ,u  '"^oa'^.'awns  until  the  set  of  sun 

Five  others  :  we  were  seven  at  Vivian^place. 
'^"''hou'e ''''  """""^  ^^"«'  «how>d  the 

F&'oVtii'  te„f°raT  "?•"'«  ''^■' ' 

„        their  names!         '  °^^''"  '''=»" 

■And  on  the  tables  every  dim.,  a.,^  - 
Jumbled  together:  celu  and  caInl»P 

.  walls,  ^       •  ^"'^  '"g'^er  en  the 


A.  TENNYSON. 


Andsome^were  whehn'd  with  n^s°^l^^  o'^/jfe 

And  someWrepush-d  with  lances  from  the 

''"'''b?oor''--°^'d«"hinthewhirlin3 
O  miracle  of  noble  womanhood  I  •' 


and  I  "'•    -which  he  brought, 

^'"'kilUts'""^  °^  '^J«=»  that  dealt  with 

K'f=«ratu?'S"7V?"nt''  and  kings 
And  mixt  wUh  .fc  ^^^^  ^"'^  f"^  ^^'^^  -• 
Her  own  fair  hllf'^^f%°'}^  that  arm'd 
gate,       ^^'''  '"'^  «a"y"'g  thro'  the 

wak'"  '■'*''  *"''  ''^'"gbter  from  her 

:  "O  noftiart  wTrf"'"  ''="■''  the  book, 
neart  who,  bemg  strait-besieged 


I  An'!  "alf  ram  Shis  ?'r"''  ^'^'°"-'«  '• 
I     To  the  Abbei"  Vk  '    -^T^  °"f'    he  said, 

'  ^oSth!?o''  CeVai'k -"straT  «"«=-^« '0 

tome-       '^  strange  was  the  sight 

ghl^Sp/feKJSa-Usown 
The.e^moved  the   multitude,   a  "'thousand 

TaLfc"'  '^^^^'■^  °f  their  Institute 
"  of''sro"ne"'''>  ^-'-    Onerell^'^lafont 

fh1&Ii^„f^",:^^i,';;r°^'^-'op«. 

A  twisted  snake,  and  now  a  ™?n  ^f"^  "*?*     * 

as'iiLTiffF^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Scot  '•  """<  >™«»lial  io.ver 

the  lake  and  laughter:  round 


to 


THE  PRINCESS. 


Rose  gem-like  up  before  the  dusky  groves 
And  dropt  a  fairy  paracliute  and  past : 
And  there  thro'  twenty  posts  ot  tclecraph 
They  flashed  a  saucy  message  to  and  fro 
Between  ihe  mimic  stations  ;  so  that  sport 
Went  hand  in  hand  with  Science  ;  otherwhere 
Pure  sport :    a  herd  of   boys   with   clamor 

bowl'd 
And  stump'd  the  wicket  ;  babies  roll'd  about 
Like  tumbled  fruit  in  grass;  and  men  and 

maids 
Arranged  a  country  dance,  and  flew  thro' 

light  .    . 

And  shadow,  while  the  twanghng  violm 
Struck  up  with  Soldier-laddie,  and  overhead 
The  broad  ambrosial  aisles  of  lofty  lime 
Made  noise  with  bees  and  breeze  Irom  end  to 

end. 

Strange  was  tlie  sight  and  smacking  of  the 

time  ; 
And  long  we  gazed,  but  satiated  at  length 
Came  to  the  ruins.     High-arch'd  and   ivy- 

claspt, 
Of  finest  Gothic  lighter  than  a  fire, 
Thro'  one  wide  chasm  of  time  and  frost  they 

gave 
The  park,  the    crowd,  the  bouse;  but  all 

within 
The  sward  was  trim  as  any  e;arden  lawn  : 
And  here  we  lit  on  Aunt  Erizabeth, 
And  Lilia  with  the  rest,  and  lady  friends 
From  neighbor  seats  :  and  there  was  Ralph 

himself, 
A  broken  statue  prcpt  ag^ainst  the  wall. 
As  gay  as  any.     Lilia  wild  with  sport, 
Half  child,  half  woman  as  she  was,  had  wound 
A  scarf  of  orange  round  the  stony  helm, 
And  robed  the  shoulders  in  a  rosy  silk, 
That  made  the  old  warrior  from  his  ivied  nook 
Glow  like  a  sunbeam  :  near  his  tomb  a  feast 
Shone,  silver-set ;  about  it  lay  the  guests. 
And  there  we  joined  them  :  then  the  maiden 

Aunt 
Took  this  fair  day  for  text,   and  from  it 

preach'd 
An  universal  culture  for  the  crowd. 
And  all   things  great  ;  but  we,  unworthier, 

told 
Of  College  :  he  had  climb'd  across  the  spikes, 
And  he  had  squeezed  himself  betwixt  the  bars, 
And  he  had  breathed  the  Proctor's  dogs  :  and 

one 
Discuss'd  his  tutor,  rough  to  common  men, 
But  honeying  at  the  whisper  of  a  lord  ; 
And  one  the  Master,  as  a  rogue  in  grain 
Veneer'd  with  sanctimonious  theory. 

But  while  they  talk'd,  above  their  heads  I 

saw 
The  feudal  warrior  lady-clad  ;  which  brought 
My  book  to  mind  :  and  opening  this  I  read 
Of  old  Sir  Ralph  a  page  or  two  that  rang 
With  tilt  and  tourney ;  then  the  tale  of  her 
That  drove  her  foes  with  slaughter  from  her 

walls, 
And  much    I    praised  her  nobleness,  and 

"Where,'' 


Ask'd  Walter,  patting  Lilia's  head  (she  lay 
Reside   him)  "  lives   there    such    a  woman 

now?" 
Quick  answer'd  Lilia,  "There  arc  thou- 
sands now 
Such  women,  but    convention    beats  them 

down  : 
It  is  but  bringing  up  ;  no  more  than  that : 
You  men  have  done  it  :  how  I  hale  you  all  ! 
Ah,  were  I  something  great  I  I  wish  1  were 
Some  mighty  poetess,   I  would  shame  you 

then. 
That  love  to  keep  us  children  I  O  I  wish 
That  I  were  some  great  Princess,  1  would 

build 
Far  off  from  men  a  college  like  a  man's. 
And  I  would  teach  them  all  that  men  are 

taught : 
We  are  twice  as  quick  I  "    And  here  she 

shook  aside 
The  hand  that  play'd   the  patron  with  her 

curls. 

And  one  said  smiling,  "  Pretty  were  the 

sight 
If  our  old  halls  could  change  their  sex,  and 

flaunt 
With  prudes  for  proctors,  dowaijers  for  deans. 
And  sweet  girl-graduaies  in  their  golden  hair. 
I  think  they  shouldnot  wear  our  rusty  gowns, 
But  move  as  rich  as  Emperor-moths  or  Ralph 
Who  shines  so  in  the  corner  ;  yet  I  fear, 
If  there  were  many  Lilias  in  the  brood, 
However  deep  you  might  embower  the  nest, 
Some  boy  would  spy  it." 

At  this  ucon  the  sward 
She  tapt  her  tiny  silken  sandal  d  foot : 
"  That 's  your  light  way  ;  but  I  would  make 

it  death 
For  any  male  thing  but  to  peep  at  us." 

Petulant  she  spoke,  and  at  herself  she 

laugh'd ; 
A  rose-bud  set  with  little  wilful  thorns. 
And  sweet  as  English 'air  could  make  her, 

she  : 
But  Walter  hail'd  a  score  of  n.imesupon  hor. 
And    "  petty    Ogress,"     and    "  ungratelul 

Puss," 
And  swore  he  long'd  at  College,  only  long'd. 
All  else  was  well,  for  she-society. 
They  boated  and  they  cricketed  ;  they  talk'd 
At  wine,  in  clubs,  of  art,  of  politics  ; 
They  lost  their  weeks  ;  they  vext  the  souls  of 

deans ; 
They  rode  :  they  betted  ;  made  a  hundred 

friends, 
And  caught  Ihe  blossom  of  the  flying  term.s. 
But  miss'd  the  mignonette  of  Vivian-place. 
The  little    hearth-flower    Lilia.     Thus    he 

spoke. 
Part  banter,  part  affection. 

"True,"  she  said, 
"We  doubt  not  that.     O  yes,  you  miss'd  us 

much. 
I  '11  stake  my  ruby  ring  upon  it  you  did," 

She  held  it  out ;  and  as  a  parrot  turns 
Up  thro'  gilt  wires  a  crafty  loving  eye, 


ia's  head  (she  lay 
re    such    a  woman 

"There  are  thou- 

sntion    bents  them 

more  than  that : 
ow  I  hate  you  all  ! 
:at  I  I  wihh  1  were 
would  shame  you 

Iren  I  O  I  wish 
Princess,  1  would 

fe  like  a  man's, 
n  all  that  men  are 

I  "    And  here  she 

he  patron  with  her 

"  Pretty  were  the 

ange  their  sex,  and 

dowagers  for  deans, 
in  their  golden  hair, 
ear  our  rusty  gowns, 
sror-moths  or  Ralph 
ner ;  yet  I  fear, 
s  in  the  brood, 
;  embower  the  nest, 

this  upon  the  sward 
landal  d  foot : 
but  I  would  make 

o  peep  at  us." 
md  at  herself  she 

wilful  thorns, 
r  could  make  her, 

:  of  names  upon  her, 
and    "  uiigratelul 

College,  only  long'd, 
-society. 

cketed ;  they  talk'd 
of  politics ; 
hey  vext  the  souls  of 

;  made  a  hundred 

of  the  flying  terms, 
te  of  Vivian-place. 
Lilia.     Thus   he 


"True,"  she  said, 
yes,  you  miss'd  us 

pon  it  you  did." 

i  a  parrot  turns 
;y  loving  eye. 


A"'?fc?i-'_^?'»fipK<'rwith 


^   MEDLEY. 


^?^s 'iSdr'SSi;;?!..".  I  &;-s ---. . 


r>  •     •■       ""'  '"'  "nr 
And  wrung";:""  "  DoubT  m''  ''''  i^''"^''^ 

•Xome,.I.^._,^enl  here  is  proof  that  you  were 
Ihehard^g,a.„-d  Muses  of  thL°j:rbt- and 

As  many  iit.ll  In^ln^L  H  /I"!  "/.^'''-^  - 
Charades  and  riddles  nsaTrT'^.^*  ''  , 
And  what's  mv  Vl.^    »' Christmas  here, 

lt°rSt'&t'.t'?;°"* -"•'---.'. 

ApIeasantgame,she£^J-tr'K^; 

£t'rs?i!Xt"ki^s''="/'  f  "''^  ■•-». 

men,        "  """"^  °^  '*'"  did  men  tell 
She  wonder'd,  by  themselves? 
Perch'd  on  the  nm.f.j  1 1         A  half-disdain 
And  WaherTodKI  ''^T'^.f''''  ''!»  = 
1  he  rest  would  follow  eiri;  ;„  .     ""'Sa-i, 
Wcfoj^ed  a  sevenfold;." 'l^|;|.r^^o 

i"ne  by  the  fire  in  winter''^  ^^^  '°  '^'" 
The  tyrant  I  Hii  1,;^..  :    .,        ^'"  him  now 
Said  Lilia  ;   "  Whvno.  *'''  "V,""""  '"o." 
Aunl.     ^^^  "°'  "°*."  the  maiden 

TosomethinSmo.t^'^i''^ '''»  '"O"*''  at  this 
And  Lilia  Swiufsudd^'^I^-J'^lit '  'augh'd 

f'S-1-^SraPH^^tr.ce 


soineihing  made  to 


A  Got 


I 


ilac 


8i 

required.  — 
su't  will,   Ji.ne  ,„j 


ts. 


A  feudal  knighfi,?'  f,,"f,  ''"^"="'   ^'k'"--. 

And,   yonderf  sh"iet'"a;d"'^:?;'^:r'''=-         • 
nieiits  "   i'lMiige  experi- 

Z  ^'•-"  aii -^°°'  '''^  «^""'  '-d  burnt 

Ins....  a  medley,  we  should  have  him 

^'".ai^USS^r^'-doitfbrus. 
And  let  tl,e  ladies  si, u/,  "'''■'"^y"  comes. 

lo  g.ve  u.  breathi,\g.™'r,''>d  "r  a  song 

And  the  rest  follow'd  •  and  ,I,„^°  '  ^^^nn. 
!;|t^vee„  the  rougher  voles ^.r"""  '^'"'K 
Like  hi.nets  in  tlie  pauses  of   i  ""•"  •""-;"- 

>^»dhcreIgive.lJrr%t'tsX; 
I. 

One,;rp?r  IZ'rol^l'l^S  '"'  ?'"'  ^  '"^ce, 
With  lengths  of  yc  C    nM^';''.f  ^^"^• 

Foro„.ycradl/shone^;i;S'l^i'-;Xr. 


Or  J^""  Will,  or 

he,     '"""'="' ^°^''eroine,"  claw,  „ 

And  m_akehersome  great  Princess,  six  feet 
Jjrand,  cnir  i.«_,;-.j  , 

■^•l>e  Prince  •,ow?nferV"'''''^y°" 

I  answer'd  ''ll!if  k*"!""^  '"e.  the  Prince  " 

Sevenand'yc  onejufesh'ad'"  '!'  '"'^  ' 

/      uc,  uKe  shadows  m  a  dream.  — 


.SoISorc:rt':,?„"^"-^[egend  in  our  hou.se. 

because  he  caLt.Vn  ci     i°Tsrandsiro  burnt 
,%ing  that non'e"?at  'i:°;:i  ''^^'  ['"•^""d. 

ihe  shndowfrom  the  Xr  °''  '^'"'"'d  know 
•;^,hould  cometoTJ  *wTth  swf  ■  """^  '}''  ""= 
1  or  so,  my  mother  said  ihl"'''  ""'d '°  fa". 
And,  truly,  wakiny^XJr  ""^  ^'ory  r.nn. 

^        knows  what        "*   '"'"■■"•    -""ven 

An"  fwhileTdalS  Tij'd^'  tT"  ^^  dnv. 
I  seem'd  to  movp  ^m  "^  '^"^  ^  as  heretofore. 
And  feel  my^f^  ifeTh'^f    •  ■  'T'^"^ '^'^-'^ 
Ourgr^eourt-Gale„-;3e/^^^-;;!i,,,, 

"'  7;S..'."'^  ''"^'''  -d  -"tter-d  "cata- 

MymolfeS'^fS^'housand  prayers: 

Half-eanoniedb;^  f,,^ff"l?r'"- 
So  g^-icious  was  ifer  tac   nnd  ?''  'I  °"  '"=^' 
But  mv  tjood  fithlr  f  1?      u  d  tenderness ; 

f'*'..°"'' "'"■«'•■■'»«■««*'.  f™..i„ 

For  judgment. 
While^H.p-5nS^t^^a-. 

^.s7ru^"SdfeT^^tl^t•=^v•  ^'^^  '^-^ 

Ateightye^arsordfa^d'StDlSTm^.':,,, 


fla 


THE  PRINCESS'. 


Came  murmurs  of  her  beauty  from  the  South, 
And  of  her  brethren,  youths  of  puissanc; ; 
And  still  I  wore  her  picture  by  my  heart, 
And  one  dark  tress ;  and  all  around  them  both 
Sweet  thoughts  would  swarm  as  bees  about 
their  queen. 

But  when  the  days  drew  nigh  that  I  should 

wed, 
^f  y  father  sent  ambassadors  with  furs 
And  jewels,  gifts,  to  fetch  her;  these  brought 

back 
A  present,  a  creat  labor  of  the  loom  ; 
And  therewithal  an  answer  vague  as  wind  ; 
liesides,  they  saw  the  king ;  he  took  the  gifts ; 
He  said  there  was  a  compact ;  that  was  true: 
But  then  she  had  a  will  ;  was  he  to  blame? 
And  maiden  fancies  ;  loved  to  live  alone 
Among  her  women  ;  certain,  would  not  wed. 

That  morning  in  the  presence  room  I  stood 
\y  ith  Cyril  and  with  Florinn,  my  two  friends : 
The  first,  a  gentleman  of  broken  means 
(His  father's  fault)  but  given  to  starts  and 

bursts 
Of  revel ;  and  the  last,  my  other  heart. 
And  almost  my  half-self,  for  still  we  moved 
Together,  twinn'd  as  horse's  ear  anr",  eye. 

Now,  while  they  spake,  I  saw  my  father's 

face 
Grow  long  and  troubled  like  a  rising  moon. 
Inflamed  with  wrath  :  lie  started  on  his  feet. 
Tore  the  king's  letter,  snow'd  it  down,  and 

rent 
The  wonder  of  the  loom  thro'  warp  and  woof 
From  skirt  to  skirt ;  and  at  the  last  he  sware 
That  he  would  send  a  hundred  thousand  men, 
And  bring  her  in  a  whirlwind :  then  he  chew'd 
The  thrice-turn'd  cud  of  wrath,  and  cook'd 

his  spleen, 
Communing  with  his  captains  of  the  war. 

At  last  I  spoke.    "  My  father,  let  me  go. 
It  cannot  be  but  some  gross  error  lies 
In  this  report,  this  answer  of  a  king, 
Whom  all  men  rate  as  kind  nnd  hospitable  : 
Or,  maybe,  I  myself,  my  bride  once  seen, 
Whate'er  my  ^nef  to  find  her  less  than  fame. 
May  rue  the  bargain  made."    And  Florian 

said  : 
"  I  have  a  sister  at  the  foreign  court. 
Who  moves  about  the  Princess ;  she,  you 

know, 
Who  wedded  with  a  nobleman  from  thence  : 
He,  dying  lately,  left  her,  as  I  henr, 
The  lady  of  three  castles  in  that  land  : 
Thro'  her  this  matter  might  be  sifted  clean." 
And  Cyril  whisper'd  :  "'Take  me  with  you 

too." 
Then  laughing  "  what,  if  these  weird  seizures 

come 
Upon^ou  in  those  lands,  and  no  ore  near 
To  pomt  you  out  the  shadow  from  the  truth  I 
Take  me  :  I  '11  serve  you  better  in  a  strait  ; 
I  grate  on  rusty  hinges  here  "  :  but  "  No  1  " 
Roar'd  the  rough  king,  "  you  ^hall  not ;  .  e 

ourself 


Will  crush  her  pretty  maiden  fancies  dead 
In  iron  gauntlets  :  break  the  council  up." 

But  when  the  council  broke,  I  rose  and 

past 
Thro'  the  wild  woods  that  hung  about  the 

town ; 
Found  a  still  place,  and  pluck'd  her  likeness 

out ; 
Laid  it  on  flowers,  and  watcli'd  it  Iving  bathed 
In  the  green  gleam  of  dewy-tassell'd  trees: 
What  were  those  fancies?  wherefore  break 

her  troth  ? 
Proud  look'd  the  lip»  :  but  while  I  medi- 
tated 
A  wind  arose  and  rush'd  upon  the  South, 
And  shook  the  songs,  the  whispers,  and  the 

shrieks 
Of  the  wild  woods  together  ;  and  a  V(  ice 
Went  with  it,  "  Follow,  follow,  thou  shall 

win." 

Then,  ere  the  silver  sickle  of  that  month 
Became  her  golden  shield,  I  stole  from  court 
Willi  Cyril  and  with  Flori.in,  unperceivcd. 
Cat-footed  thro'  the  town  and  half  in  dread 
To  hear  my  father's  clamor  at  our  backs 
With   Ho!    from   some   bay-window  shake 

riie  night ; 
But  all  was  quiet :  from  the  bastion'd  walls 
Like  threaded  spiders,  one  by  one,  we  dropt. 
And  flying  reach'd  the  frontier:   then  we 

crost 
To  a  livelier  land  ;  and  so  by  tilth  and  grange, 
And  vines,  and  blowing  bosks  of  wilderness, 
We  gain'd  the  mothei-city  thick  with  towers, 
And  ill  the  imperial  palace  found  the  king. 

His  name  was  Gama ;  crack'd  and  small 

his  voice. 
But  bland  the  smile  that  like  a  wrinkling 

wind 
On  glassy  water  drove  his  cheek  in  lines  ; 
A  little  dry  old  man,  without  a  star, 
Not  like  a  king  :  three  days  he  feasted  us, 
And  on  the  fourth  I  spake  of  why  we  came. 
And  my  betroth'd.     "  You  do  us,  Princq," 

he  said, 
Airing  a  snowy  hand  and  signet  gem, 
"  All  honor.     We  remember  love  ourselves 
In  our  sweet  youth  :  there  did  a  compact  pass 
Long  summers  back,  a  kind  of  ceremony  — 
I  think  the  year  in  which  our  olives  fail'd. 
I  would  you  had  lier.  Prince,  with  all  my 

heart, 
With  my  full  heart :  but  there  were  widows 

here. 
Two  widows.  Lady  Psyche,  Lady  Blanche  ; 
They  fed  her  theories,  in  and  out  of  pl.icc 
Maintaining  that  with  equal  husbandry 
The  woman  were  an  equal  to  the  man. 
They  harp'd  on  this  ;  with  this  our  bam 


rang ; 


•  banquets 

Our  dance's  broke  and  buzz'd  in  knots  of  talk  ; 
Nothing  but  this  ;  my  very  ears  were  hot 
To  hear  them :  knowledge,  so  my  daughter 

held, 
Was  all  in  all ;  they  had  but  been,  she  thought, 


aiden  fancies  dead 

k  the  council  up." 

il  broke,  I  rose  and 

hat  hung  about  the 

pliick'd  her  likeness 

atch'ditlvinRb.ithed 
Bwy-lasseli'd  trees: 
;s?  wherefore  break 

but  while  I  medi- 

1  upon  the  South, 
lie  whispers,  and  the 

her;  and  a  V(  ice 
',  follow,  thou  ihalt 


ckle  of  that  month 
Id,  I  stole  from  court 
iri.in,  unperceived, 
n  and  half  in  dread 
nor  at  our  backs 
bay-window  shake 

the  bastiun'd  walls 
me  by  one,  we  dropt, 
:  frontier :    then  we 

>  by  tilth  and  grange, 
bosks  of  wilderness, 
ty  thick  with  towers, 
ce  found  the  king. 

;  crack'd  and  small 

lat  like  a  wrinkling 

is  cheek  in  lines  ; 
hout  a  star, 
lays  he  feasted  us, 
te  of  why  we  came, 
I'ou  do  us,  PrincQ," 

i  signet  gem, 
ibcr  love  ourselves 
e  did  a  compact  pass 
ind  of  ceremony  — 
1  our  olives  fail'd. 
Prince,  with  all  my 

t  there  were  widows 

he,  Lady  Blanche ; 
I  and  out  of  place 
lual  husbandry 
al  to  the  in.an. 
th  this  our  banquets 

zz'd  in  knots  of  tall:  ; 
!ry  ears  were  hot 
Ige,  so  my  daughter 

itbeen,  she  thought, 


The  wSn':  'tfeV  bj^H^^"'''!'  "*"-« 
Too  awful,  sure   fo'r  w ha,  ^h^'  °^''  '''5  *^"'e. 
nut  all  .she  i.  a,  d  d<ri  f,'  '''=/,"-eated  of. 
About  Ihi.,  losi,  e  nf^i!  "  f'TL"'  •  "'l" 
And  dism,V?y  c^,°  /o'l^'.'' d  ••  »"rt  rhyme. 
Beyond  all  reLo^'  .iX'thi  «  '''^"«'= 

A  certain  summer  ,^il,icewl,iclh^^\'' *  '^°°" 
H..rd  by  your  fathe'r's  fronTi  r" /sai<I^,„ 

An'fe.ta:^r?n^:i^'^'^-, 
tek;;:;:^;::i'^!;r«^''-"d'-e 

Not  ev'n  her  brother  A;'       ^^  ?'"  ""  ""="' 
Hcrbrethren,  tho' thevlf 'l  "°'. "'f  '""'» 
As  on  a  kind'of  paraj'o  °    ^  ""'  "'^""  ''" 
(Pardor,^  m^e  saying  ft)  we?;''nLh  loath  to 

SnS'lc.^^^.:i!^?^K?"d  mine:  but  since 


^   ^f£VZ£y. 


'"'^ftc^'''''  •'•-•-  which  I  cloth^ 

"  n.as,,,Ve  or  naKJ^,?ai?n    >'•'.''''=  "^'"'^ast. 
\Ve  sen    mine  l.r^V,  ,  .^'  '7  ""'l"  "  C""". 
He  brouci     t  I", I    •  ''"rc^'-ise  female  gear  • 

fc'?^^fd:'^-SS'^^^^^ 

^:;^s^':;n;-£ri~.. 

Mr       *•..._  ' 


(And  Ico^fe  ;'iS' f"f  "•;■"«     - 

Ill  some  sort   1  c-i„?'iy  * ""  '"""^ '"«  bound 
And  yet,  tosneikThe^  nf,rj'  '""'="  '°  '"-'r  ; 
Almost  at  naS^'.Ilfi.'Ji'^V  "'«  yourch.u.ce 

And  r,  tho'  nettl,.^  .),,.  i       '"'"'  •''^  kinij 
With  garruhms  eafe  an^   V"™'''  '°  «'"'• 
Our  formal  comnict   Jl^  "''^  courtesies 
But  chafing  meon  fire/'  TV"''  1.^"  ^ets 

Went^^ag.-!S^:ttn:iSVe 
Kraitefe^'^^Atlast 

Close  at  ?h"bo:L"rrjf,r!^,«"'-9"rve, 


And  linden  allev  •  ih,.,l.  P**^ 

Whereon  a  woman-s  i  >r  P'"''  ?"  ''•^ch. 
fro,„  four  r,g-d"  h^se3  7ark^"''  ^'"«' 
stars ;  "  "^'^''  'gainst  the 

AlittleLeetfenl     '',:;,^",7f8'-'''''d 
But  sc..  could  Lar-^offiSror 
Ofclocks^arid  chimes,  ,i,e  silver  hammers 

o^oi:;ui?,rs'Su^^''^:,^5'^f'--!^'.v 

-aptin£lng.-i-;^J:Sr:^a.e 


Close  ;.t.hu"^  .'■'^^'■■s  cresce 

S  enter'droM^  °'"l"=  ^'^^^^'^ 

To  counclrplreS  h  m  ^h'',  ""-'d  mine  host 

And  show-d-Jhefcrill;/;--,^- wines. 

As^bla^k  as'Jeal'r  ""^i!?"'""'  ''"^^ 

Averring  ifw^fc-^t'sVallrur^'^'"''"''' 
For  any  man  to  go  :  butT  i,;,  k  "■'" 
BsKan  to  mellow  "  rf  .i     i  ■      '"■^'" 

"Had  given  u^ letters    w^^^'^   ''- ^"■^• 
speak.'  ^'^^'  "^^^  he   bound   to 

Theking.vouldbearhimout";andatthe 

"NVrubt^^htt'S.lSr",,'''^--- 
while.        "^ '"'S'"  "lake  It  worth  his 

She  once  ^hacl  pas.  .hat  way;  he  heard  her 

sfc™'tS';^-er  saw  the  like: 
^        grave :      ^     ^  '^^  doomsday  and  as 

He1.fcyr„'",r'"''^  '"^  '-ege-ladv  .here  • 

"-  daug^^.:;:'ti  C' u°  Fis^r^'"'  '"'^4'- 

bovs  ;  -i.u..^maiu  were  th 

7^1M  terotr°,i  tt  ■"•■!-  ='bout 

And  all  the  dogs-  »        ^ **"'^ '^^re sows, 
But  while  he  jested  thus 


.V;r'-nm™gat?h'c;ran^^ 

Ui-.  a  ;?^r'-f;:."h,7i;:  =  ,::,';'^" «-« 

jaid,  "■      ^adyHianche,"she 

Be^l'^.';S^.r'^^^L;dv^J''^^--P-tties^ 
are  we,"         ^«dy  Psyche."     "  Her^ 

One  vo^^e^,,e  cried;  and  I  sat  down  and 

fc1inS^b:fc.^S;i:^^,. 

As  Lady  Psyche's  pupils." 

The  seal  was  Cun.M  t,»„f  ,1,     ''^'^is  I  seal'd  : 
And  o'er  1  is  hen,^  n       •'  ^H?''°  '''  '"oil. 

OnsomeffiKl-SW^^S 


84 


THE  PRINCESS'. 


J. 
31! 


As  thro'  the  land  at  eve  we  went, 

And  p'.uck'd  the  ripen 'd  ears, 
We  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I, 
O  ne  fell  out  I  know  n6t  why. 
And  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 

For  when  we  came  where  lies  the  child 

We  lost  in  other  years, 
There  above  the  little  grave, 
O  there  above  the  little  grave, 

We  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 


II. 


At  break  of  day  the  College  Portress  came  : 
She  brought  us  Academic  silks,  i.i  hue 
The  lilac,  with  a  silken  hood  to  each. 
And  zoned  with  gold  ;  and  now  when  these 

were  on. 
And  we  as  rich  as  moths  from  dusk  cocoons. 
She,  cuitseying  her  obeisance,  let  us  know 
The  Princess  Ida  waited  :  out  we  paced, 
I  first,  and  following  thro'  the  porch  that  sang 
All  round  with  laurel,  issued  ni  a  court 
Compact  of  lucid  marbles,  boss'd  with  lengths 
Of  classic  frieze,  with  ample  awnings  gay 
Betwixt  the  pillars,  and  with  great  urns  of 

flowers. 
The  Muses  and  the  Graces,  group'd  in  threes, 
Enring'd  a  billowing  fountam  in  the  midst ; 
And  here  and  there  on  lattice  edges  lay 
Or  book  or  lute  ;  but  hastily  we  past. 
And  up  a  flight  of  stairs  into  the  hall. 

There  at  a  board  by  tome  and  paper  sat, 
With  two  tame  leopards  couch'd  beside  her 

throne. 
All  beauty  compass'd  in  a  female  form. 
The  Princess  ;  liker  to  the  inhabitant 
Of  some  clear  planet  close  upon  the  Sun, 
Than  our  man's  earth ;    such  eyes  were  in 

her  head. 
And  so  much  grace  and  power,  breathing 

down 
From  over  her  arch'd  brow.-s,  with  every  turn 
Lived  thro'  her  to  the  tips  of  her  long  hands, 
And  to  her  feet.    She  rose  her  height,  and 

said: 

"We  give  you  welcome  :  not  without  re- 
dound 
Of  use  and  fjlory  to  yourselves  ye  come, 
The  first-fruits  of  the  stranger:  aftcrtime. 
And  that  full  voice  which  circles  round  the 

grave, 
Will  rank  you  nobly,  mingled  up  with  me. 
What !  are  the  l.tdies  of  your  land  so  ta'.l?" 
"  We  of  the  court,"  said  Cyril.    ,"  From  the 

court," 
She  answer'd,  "then  ye  know  the  Prince?  " 

and  he  : 
"Tlie  climax  of  his  age  !  as  iiio'  Uicie  were 
One  rose  in  all  the  world,  your  Highness  that. 
He  worships  your  ideal. "_     She  replied  : 
"  We  scarcely  thought   in  our  own   hall  to 

hear 
This  barren  rerbiage,  current  among  men, 


Like  coin,  the  tinsel  clink  of  compliment. 
Your  flight  from  out  your  bookless  wilds 

would  seem 
As  arguing  love  of  knowledge  and  of  power; 
Your  l.inguage  proves  you  still  the   child. 

Indeed, 
We  dream  not  of  him  :  when  we  set  out  hand 
To  this  great  work,  we  purposed  with  our- 

self 
Never  to  wed.    You  likewise  will  do  well. 
Ladies,  in  entering  here,  to  cast  and  fling 
The  tricks,  which  make  us  toys  of  men,  that  so. 
Some  future  time,  it  so  indeed  you  will. 
You  may  with  those  self-styled  our  lords  ally 
Your  fortunes,  iustlier  balanced,  scale  with 

scale." 

At  those  high  words,  we,  conscious  of  our- 
selves. 
Perused   he  matting  ;  then  an  officer 
Rose  up,  and  read  the  statutes,  such  as  these : 
Not  for  three  years  to  correspond  with  home  ; 
Not  for  three  years  to  cross  the  liberties  : 
Not  for  three  years  to  speak  with  any  men  ; 
And  many  more,  which  hastily  subscribed. 
We  enter'd  on   the  boards  :   and   "  Now," 

she  cried, 
"  Ye  are  green  wood,  see  ye  warp  not.    Look, 

our  hall  I 
Our  statues  I  —  not  of  those  that  men  desire. 
Sleek  Odalisques,  or  oracles  of  mode. 
Nor  stunted  squaws  of  West  or  East ;  but  she 
That  taught  the  Sabine  how  to  rule,  and  she 
The  foundress  of  the  Babylonian  wall. 
The  Carian  Artemisia  strong  in  war, 
I'he  Rhr-dope,  that  built  the  pyramid, 
Clelia,  C  ornelia,  with  the  Palmyrene 
That  fought  Aurelian,  and  the  Roman  brows 
Of  Agrippiua.    Dwell  with  these  and  lose 
Convention,  since  to  look  on  noble  forms 
Makes  noble  thro'  the  sensuous  or^ianism 
That  which  is  higher.    O  lift  your  natures 

up: 
Embrace  our  aims  :  work  out  your  freedom. 

Girls, 
Knowledge  is  now  no  more  a  fountain  seal'd : 
Drink  deep,  until  the  habits  of  the  slave, 
The  sins  of  emptiness,  gossip  and  spite 
And  slander,  die.     Better  not  be  at  all 
Than  not  be  noble.    Leave  us  :  you  may  go  : 
To-day  the  Lady  Psyche  will  harangue 
The  fresh  arrivals  of  the  week  before  ; 
For  they  press  in  from  all  the  provinces, 
And  fill  the  hive." 

She  spoke,  and  bowing  waved 
Dismissal :  back  again  we  crost  the  court 
To  Lady  Psyche's :  as  we  enter'd  in. 
There  sat  along  the  forms,  like  morning  doves 
That  sun  their  milky  bosoms  on  the  thatch, 
A  patient  range  of  pupils  ;  she  herself 
Erect  behind  a  desk  of  satin-wood, 
A  quick  brunette,  well-moulded,  falcon-eyed, 
And  en  the  hither  side,  or  so  she  look'd, 
Of  twenty  summers.    At  her  left,  a  child, 
In  shining  draperies,  headed  like  a  star. 
Her  maiden  babe,  a  double  April  old, 
Ai;laia  slept.     We  sat :  the  Lady  jjlanced  : 
Then  Florian,  but  np  liveher  than  the  dame 


Some 


of  compliment, 
ar  bookless  wilds 

dge  and  of  power ; 
>u  still   the  child. 

en  we  set  out  hand 
urposed  with  our- 

'ise  will  do  well, 
o  cast  and  fling 
oysof  men,  that  so, 
leed  you  will, 
yled  our  lords  ally 
lanced,  scale  with 


:,  conscious  of  our- 

1  an  officer 
ites,  such  as  these : 
;spond  with  home ; 
>s  the  liberties  : 
ik  with  any  men  ; 
stily  subscribed, 
is  :   and    "  Now," 

e  warp  not.   Look, 

56  that  men  desire, 
es  of  .node, 
:st  or  East ;  but  she 
iw  to  rule,  aiTd  she 
Ionian  wall, 
ng  in  war, 
he  pyramid, 
Palmyrene 
the  Roman  brows 
li  these  and  lose 
on  noble  forms 
suous  organism 
)  lift  your  natures 

out  your  freedom. 

s  a  fountain  eeal'd : 
ts  of  the  slave, 
sip  and  spite 
not  be  at  all 
s  us  :  you  may  go : 
vill  harangue 
'eek  before  ; 
the  provinces, 

and  bowing  waved 
crost  the  court 
entcr'd  in, 
like  morning  doves 
ins  on  the  thatch, 
she  herself 
in-wood, 

ulded,  falcon-eyed, 
so  she  iook'il, 
ler  left,  a  child, 
led  like  a  star, 
le  April  old, 
e  Lady  glanced  : 
ilier  than  the  dam? 


A  MB D LEY. 
among  the 


That  whisper'd  "Asses'  ears' 
"Mygr."-      "Comely  ,00  by  all  that's 
Said  Cyril.    "  O  hush,  hush  !  "  and  she  began. 

t;ii  I!^"  T','*^  '"^''  °"«  a  fluid  haze  of  liehf 
T'H  '°}^,«'-d  !l>e  centre  set  the  starry  tides 
And  eddied  into  suns,  tiat  wheelinc  cast 
T,H '''?■;""'•  'hen  the  monster,  the"ul"man  ■ 
Raw°frl°;h'°''''='^'  ^'"'"-'-■lad  in  sWnr    ' 
Raw  from^the  prime,  and  crushing  down  his 

AmSTLfet''^^''^^°"^"'-'-d'>-e 

A  bird's-eve  view  of  allTii^f  ^"^''"■^''^  '"""^ 

Ofem  i  "  td'^4--.^G;ec.a^^ 

How  far^from  just;  till.  warmi.^gVi?hVr 


«J 


W^^fS^^^^^^. 


Birat?n^g%"n/fSe°'.P^°'"^-K^   ^""' 
ai^^:S?-=^'^^eart, 
Two  in  Z  Krotero?,?,',""=  "-•"^' 
'^"Xr^'^'^-P'^--^  sound  the 

Eanh  "'^  '"■°^'*  ^"^  bounteous 

Should^bear  a  double  growth  of  those  rare 
"'"•''^■^l^^^l'^-Hhtsenrich  the  blood  of  the 

^^^!^':^^^        -«herest 
Began  to  address  ..^  -, n,  >      "       ^  '^"'"S'  sl>e 

'ngratulatiot^nr'aVwhe   !A"a7'"^°" 
lacks,^and  the  slacken'd  sliftps.  all  her 

Falteri,,g  ^and  fluttering  in  her  throat,  she 
"Mybrother,..  "  Well,  my  sister. "  ..o." 
"What^do^3^,here?and:„  this  dress?  and 

riif  °f  Tofe  th^e  at''"  •''•^  ^°'^ ' 

^^  J         «»  I  Hie  i.ord  be  gracious  to 


With  much  contemt^t  inH'""'  °"  '^^="'°'^=- 

To  leap  the  rotte"  pa°es    f      •  ^*'        ^""^^ 

^oAM^^^:^\^£Pt^-^  »--'  I  ''fet''  ?  Pl?t  to  ruin  all  -  » 

„,       made  ^'^^'n^lves  but  that  which  °  ^^2'-^"°  P'^-"  he  answer'd.    "  Wretch- 

r"«r-    S''^''^^  founded;  they     " 

"'"uSt"^^"'"^™^'-^-- men  were 

''"'weVl^L'""'"™^-'''  'heir  head. 

Some  me^n's^ere  small;  not  they  the  least 
l?i&eEl-1!P!"-edsi,e 


Besides--  he  E;  "TiKS^^    •'  . 

fe'tfed^''°f''»»'rengthtobe 

But  woman  ript'-d'e°aHiern'  ^i'*  ''^«"  '°« ' 
Was  longer  •  and  alK-".  .1 '  •'"**  ''er  life 

Were  fewe^.'scatler-d  ar  ""  f '"^"""^  "^"'" 
The  highest  i'the  measure  of  h'""  '"  '"""^ 
And  not  the  Kaffir  wT.      °^  "'e  man. 

Nor  those  horn-hanH^^K""',"'-  ^^'^y. 
But  HomerrPla'to?  vlr^fc^o'-'heglebe, 
With  wom.-n  •  =.nj  .'eruiam,  even  so 
Elizabeth  ;pd  o.hl     "''  "f-government 
■^  he  Dcacianf  T       ^' '  •'>"so(  war 

nU„.       '^*"'  *ne  who  had   l»f 


I  T,„      edboy,  - 

LeT^o  M-rErrp^  '"^"'■P''°"  on  the  gate, 

I  "  And  if  T  had  "T"  "^  ''^'i'  "-^ °^"" ?" 

think  ''"'^"swer'd,  "who  could 

The  softer  Adams  of  vour  Arar»»,«- 

'  "  VouTst^    iw''  otherwise,"  she  said. 

vow  ^       "^  *'"'  edge-tools  I  my 

'S\;:^i;:i^'-iO'i'at  iron  win. 


fLefmeteTorsli^Cvrf.T'^?^^^^^ 
And  heard  the  Lady  Psyche!"  '"«  "'" 

ReSe  if  •*7ny'^'  ^^"f""'-  '  '^ve  t'Kth- 

aS  t^s  ;lr Pr  " 


^  Y  I  ■- """  witn  any  man  • 
;»   ..uP''^'=«.  *'''  *''°  ^'"*  ^^^  heri^ndthusfwhatmh    "  "' ""  —  "■"=  was. 

MDced,  {„r?  love- whispers  may  not  breathe 


pt  '' 


THE  PRINCESS: 


Within  this  vestal  limit,  and  how  should  I, 
Who  am  not  mine,  say,  live  :  the  thunderbolt 
Hangs  silent;  but  prepare  :  I  speak  ;  it  falls." 
"Vet  pause,"  I  said:  "for  that  inscription 

there, 
I  think  no  more  of  deadly  lurks  therein, 
Than  in  a  clapper  clapping  in  a  garth. 
To  scare  the  fowl  from  fruit :  if  more  there  be. 
If  more  and  acted  on,  what  follows?  war; 
Your  own  work  marr'd :   for  this  your  Ac- 
ademe, 
Whichever  side  be  Victor,  in  the  halloo 
Will  topple  to  the  trumpet  down,  and  pass 
With  all  fair  theories  only  made  to  gild 
A  stormless  summer."    "Let  the  Princess 

judge 
Of  that,"  she  said:  "farewell,  Sir  — and  to 

you. 
I  shudder  at  the  sequel,  but  I  go." 

"  Are  you  that  Lady  Psyche,"  I  rejoin'd, 
"  The  fifth  in. hue  from  that  old  Florian, 
Yet  hangs  his  portrait  in  my  father's  hall 
(The  gaunt  old  Baron  with  his  beetle  brow 
Sun-shaded  in  the  heat  of  dusty  fights) 
As  he  bestrode  my  Grandsire,  when  he  fell, 
And  all   else   fled :  we  point  to  it,  and  we 

say. 
The  loyal  warmth  of  Florian  is  not  cold. 
But  branches  current  yet  in  kindred  veins." 
"Are  you  that  Psyche,"  Florian  added,  "she 
With  whom  I  sang  about  the  morning  hills. 
Flung  ball,  flew  kite,  and  raced  the  purple 

fly. 
And  snared  the  squirrel  of  the  glen  ?  are  you 
That  Psyche,  wont  to  bind  my  throbbing 

brow. 
To   smooth    my  pillow,  mix   the   foaming 

draught 
Of  fever,  tell  me  pleasant  tales,  and  read 
My  sickness  down  to  happy  dreams  ?  are  you 
That  brother-sister  Psyche,  both  in  one  ? 
You  were  that  Psyche,  but  what  are  you 

now  ? " 
"You  are  that  Psyche,"  Cyril  said,  "for 

whom 
I  would  be  that  forever  which  I  seem, 
Woman,  if  I  might  sit  beside  your  feet, 
And  glean  your  scatter'd  sapience." 

Then  once  more, 
"Are  you  that  Lady  Psyche,"  I  began, 
"  That  on  her  bridal  morn  before  she  past 
From  all  her  old  companions,  when  the  king 
Kiss'd  her  pale  cheek,  declared  thai  ancient 

ties 
Would  still  be  dear  beyond  the  southern 

hills  ; 
That  were  there  any  of  our  people  there 
In  want  or  peril,  there  was  one  to  hear 
And  help  them  :  look  I  for  such  are  these 

and  I." 
"Are  y.oii  that  Psyche,"  Florian  aik'd,  "to 

whom. 
In  gentler  days,  your  arrow-wounded  fawn 
Came  flying  while  ypw  sat  beside  the  well  ? 
The  creature  laid  his  muzzle  on  your  lap, 
And  sobb'd,  and  you  gobb'd  with  it,  and  the 
blood 


Was  sprinkled  on  your  kirtle,  and  you  wept. 
That  was  fawn's  blood,  not  brother's,  yet  you 

wept. 
O  by  the  bright  head  of  my  little  niece, 
You  were  that  Psyche,   and  what  are  you 

now?" 
•'  You  are  that  Psyche,"  Cyril  said  again, 
1  he  mother  ot  the  sweetest  little  maid, 
That  ever  crow'd  for  kisses." 
„.  ,,    „  "Out  upon  it!" 

She  answer'd,     peace  !  and  why  should  I  not 

play 
The  Spartan  Mother  with  emotion,  be 
The  Luc'.us  Junius  Brutus  of  my  kind? 
Him  you  call  great ;  he  for  the  common  weal, 
Ihe  fading  politics  of  mortal  Rome, 
As  I  might  slay  this  child,  if  good  need  were, 
Slew  both  his  sons  :  and  I,  shall  I,  on  whom 
The  secular  emancipation  turns 
Of  half  this  worid,  be  swerved  from  right  to 

save 
A  prince,  a  brother?  a  little  will  I  yield. 
Best  so,  perchance,  for  i;s,  and  well  for  you. 
O  hard,  when  love  and  duty  clash  !  I  fear 
My  conscience  will  not  count  me  fleckless  ; 

yet  — 
Hear  my  conditions :  promise  (otherwise 
You  perish)  as  you  came  to  slip  away. 
To-day,  to-morrow,  soon  :  it  shall  be  said. 
These  women  were  too  barbarous,  would  not 

learn; 
They   fled,    who  might   have   shamed   us: 
promise,  all." 


What  could  we  else,  we  promised  each; 
and  she, 
Like  some  wild  creature  newly  caged,  com- 
menced 
A  to-and-fro,  so  pacing  till  she  paused 
By  Florian  ;  holding  out  her  lily  arms 
Took  both  his  hands,  and  smiling  faintly  said : 
"  I  knew  you  at  the  first ;  tho'  you  have  grown 
You  scarce  have  alter'd  :  1  am  sad  and  glad 
To  see  you,  Florian.    /  give  thee  to  death. 
My  brother  !  it  was  duty  spoke,  not  I. 
My  needful  seeming  harshness,  pardon  it. 
Our  mother,  is  she  well  ?" 

„.   ,     ,  With  that  she  kiss'd 

His  forehead,  then,  a  moment  after,  clung 
About  him,  and  betwixt  them  blossom'd  up 
From  out  a  common  vein  of  memory 
Sweet  household  talk,  and  phrases  of  the 

hearth, 
And  far  allusion,  till  the  gracious  dews 
Began  to  glisten  and  to  fall :  and  while 
They  stood,  so  rapt,  we  gazing,  came  a  voice, 
"  I    brought  a    message   hei      from    Lady 

Blanche."  ' 

Back  started  she,  and  turning  round  we  saw 
The    Lady   Blanche's  daughter  where  shj 

stood, 
Melissa,  with  her  iiand  upon  the  lock. 
A  rosy  blonde,  and  in  a  college  gown, 
That  clad  her  like  an  April  dafibdilly 
(Her  mother's  color)  with  her  lips  apart. 
And  all  her  thoughts  as  fair  within  her  eyes. 
As  bottom  agates  seen  to  wave  and  float 
In  crystal  currents  of  clear  morning  seas. 


I 


rtle,  and  you  wept, 
t  brother's,  yet  you 

ly  little  niece, 
and  what  are  you 

-yril  said  again, 
;test  little  maid, 
:s." 

"Out  upon  it  1" 
id  why  should  I  not 

emotion,  be 
i  of  my  kind? 
r  the  common  weal, 
;al  Rome, 
if  good  need  were, 
,  shall  I,  on  whom 
turns 
;rved  from  right  to 

e  will  I  yield, 
and  well  for  you. 
:y  clash  !  I  fear 
ount  me  fleckless ; 

ise  (otherwise 
)  slip  away, 
it  shall  be  said, 
■barous,  would  not 

lave   shamed   us : 


e  promised  each ; 

lewly  caged,  com- 

she  paused 
;r  lily  arms 
niling  faintly  said; 
lo'  you  have  grown 
am  sad  and  glad 
■e  thee  to  death, 
oke,  not  I. 
ess,  pardon  it. 

ith  that  she  kiss'd 
ent  after,  clung 
;m  blossom'd  up 
r  memory 
d  phrases  of  the 

icious  dews 
:  and  while 
ing,  came  a  voice, 
lei .'    from    Lady 

ig  round  we  saw 
ghter  where  shj 

11  tile  luck, 
ege  gown, 
daffodilly 
;r  lips  apart, 
within  her  eyes, 
ive  and  float 
loming  seas. 


Th.n  T?H„  P  *'^"'^'?'i■,•='■''''"'«  a'  '''e  door. 
Then  Lady  Psyche,   "  Ah-  Melissa  -  you  i 

me!    "'        *"'^  ^^''''^'    ""  P^f''"" 

R,^"rf'^;,i?T"''!i"°'  ""^'P  '■'•  d'd  not  wish  : 
NnM^  if  I  i^^'^>'',  P'^y  y°"  fear  me  not, 
Nor  think  I  bear  that  heart  within  my  breast, 
logive  three  gallant  gentlemen  to  deatli  •'  ' 
VvJp  ,1  y°"'  /.^'d  tl>e  other,  "for  we  tw  ^ 
Were  always  friends,  none  closer,  elm  and 

vine  : 
But  yet  your  mother's  jealous  temperament  - 
Let  not  your  prudence,   dearest,  drowse,  or 

prove 

'ri'*  ^?"?'d  of  a  leaky  vase,  for  fear 
ifiis  whole  foundation  ruin,  and  I  lose 

not""'"  '"^  ^^^'"  "^"■"    "  '^'''  fe^'' "^^ 
Replied  Melissa  ;  "no-  I  would  not  tell 
No,  not  for  all  Aspasia's  clevcrn"  s,  ' 

'  7hin°s^"'"""''  ^=*'*''""'  3"  those  hard 

^fe'i?'"''2?.u"'"*.'°  "^"^  of  Solomon." 

TliP  nlf  i"  "J^  °"''S  "  "'«'  *«  «'"  may  lead 
The  new  light  up,  and  culminate  in  peace, 
tor  Solomon  may  come  to  Sheba  yet." 
Feasted^?h;    '^^^■'""•.he  the  wisest  man 
feasted  the  woman  wisest  then,  in  halls 
rrt,^' m"T'^"  "^3''  =  "or  should  you 

ask)        ^"'^  ''"""''^  ^"''^"'  «'^  w°»'d 
Less  welcome  find  among  us,  if  you  came 
Among  us,  debtors  for  our  li;es  to  you 
Myself^for  something  more."    He'  said  not 

^"'"'a£'lot^"""'''"^°=^^'-- 
logether  :  keep  your  hoods  about  the  face  • 
Soe/k  nf.?  "'*'  ^^'''  abstraction  here        ' 

hold       "'"^  ""'  '^'"'  "'^  '^^^'  ^"d 
Your  promise  :  all,  I  trust,  may  yet  be  well.' 


A   MEDLEY. 


87 


aIu?  wh'^f '''■"''  '=*^','  ^"'J  =»"  "'e  rest, 
T  1  l^e  fhfJf  1""  ^"^ '?"«'"  ^"d  known  : 
fence,  '^''      ""  ''^''^  "^'""^^^ 

And  glutted'all  night  long  breast-deep  in  corn 
'Ipokef '^'''  ^'"'   ''"°*>ed/e,  a,^ri 
;;  Why,  Sirs,  'they  do  all  this  as  well  as  we  " 
Iheyjiunt   old   trails."  said  Cyril,  '^very 

But  when  did  woman  ever  yet  invent  '" 
Ungraaous  I"  answer'd  Florian! '" have  you 

No  mo^re^from  Psyche's  lecture,  you  that 

The  trashy  that  made  me  sick,  and  almost 

SlI^uTd'/'L^"  '*;>'^',  "  ''"'•^'"^  =»  kernel  in  i,. 
wise?      "  '"'^'  "^^^  '"^'l^  ""= 


AnT'hlr 'i''  *°^°'  ''."'  py"'  '°°k  the  child. 
And  h^M  her  round  the  knees  against  his 

While' p',iL'"'°"'",  fl^t  °f  =»  t'timpeter, 
the  ^hild  "'"'"^  "'""•  """"'"8'  «"^' 

^"''''laug'h'd^f'  ^^""^  '«''°^'  ^'^  '■^"^"d 
And  thus  our  conference  closed. 

For  half  the  day  thro'  statdy'theVres^'""'"^ 
Bench^d^c^escent-wise.     In^ach  we'sat,  we 

The  SrounH^r''-  PV^^  '"=<='"•■«  slate 
Wifh  flawif""^''^^  under  female  hands 

A  classfc]ecM.i''"°'J''-''*''°".=  f°"°*'d  'h^" 

w!;i?-r-Jr      -•  ^i  "'^ ' '"  sentiment. 

By  vioiettL°;  'i'""^'^™"^  Epic  lilted  out 


And  learnt  .'I  learnt  more  from  her  in  a  flash. 
Ihan  .f  my  brainpan  were  an  empty  hull. 
And  every  Muse  tumbled  a  science  in 
A  thousand  hearts  lie  fallow  in  these  halU 
And  round  these  halls  a  thousaf^babv  o;es 

Whi^Tf  n^  '''^"""^  ^'•'■"^^  «t  the  hearts, 
W  ence  follows  many  a  vacant  pang  ;  but  O 
With  me   Sir,  enter'd  in  the  bigger  loy. 
■  -hi  l^n^l^'^K^^  ^''5  S"'den-shafed  firm 
^fp,  Ji  A*'"''™^  "1  .'^'^  that  had  a  Psyche  too  • 

Wha  th.nl'  thro'  the  stomacher;  and  now 
What  think  you  of  it,  Florian  ?  do  I  chase 
I  he  substance  or  the  chadow?  will  irhold' 

No  ghostly  hauntmgs  like  his  Highness     I 

I  know T'^'k"''"''  ^''^•^y^  everywl'.e  e   '• 
1  know  the  substance  when  I  see  it.     Well 
Are  castles  shadows?    Three  of  them?    Is 

Sh:fifT"  P''?P'''^tress  a  shadow?    If  not 
Shall  t^hose  three  castles  patch  my  ta"°er'd 

And'^fJ"'  ^-^  those  three  castles  to  my  wants. 
And  ^Ta^  ^"i^""  ^'y'=''«  to  my  heart,  ' 

And  two  dear  things  are  one  of  double  worth 

^one      ""^'"  ''^^^  '^''''  ''"'  '^^y 
^"'"ann^l  me :   then  the  Doctors  I     O  to 

Iri'h;?"'"?"  '    ^  *°  ^«t=h  the  thirsty  plants 
Imbibing  !  once  or  twice  I  thought  to  roar 

xLT  '  '°  '■'*''"  ""y  •"anerbut 

Modulate  rJie,  Soul  of  mincing  mimicry  I 

throa't     "■"'''"    "^  that    bassooC  my 
Abase  those  eyes  that  ever  loved  to  meet 
A  wT'.f  ""^  ^¥,wef'"g  under  descent  brows  ; 
loose  '  "P^^""  "'^ '"'»"'  »»'' 

A  flying  charm  of  blushes  o'er  this  cheek. 
^here.^they  hke  swallows  coming  out  of 

Will  wonder  why  they  came;  but  hark  tha 
For  dinner,  let  us  go  I  " 


r 


I!      i' 


THE  PRINCESS: 


i   !     4 


I 


.  And  in  we  stream'd 

Among  the  columns,  pacing  staid  and  still 
Bv  twos  and  threes,  till  all  f»om  end  to  end 
With  beauties  every  shade  of  brown  and 

fair, 
In  colors  gayer  than  the  morning  mist, 
I  he  long  hall  glitter'd  like  a  bed  of  flowers. 
How  might  a  man  not  wander  from  his  wits 
Pierced  thro'  with  eyes,  but  that  I  kept  mine 

own 
Intent  on  her,  who  rapt  in  glorious  dreams, 
Ihe  second-sight  of  some  Astrsan  age. 
Sat  compass'd  with   professors :    they,   the 

while, 
Discuss'd  a  doubt  and  tost  it  to  and  fro  :       . 
A  clamor  thicken'd,  mixt  with  inmost  cerms 
Of  art  and  science  :  Lady  Blanche  alone 
Of  faded  form  and  haughtiest  lineaments, 
With  all  her  Autumn  tresses  falsely  brown, 
Shot  sidelong  daggers  at  us,  a  tiger-cat 
In  act  to  spring. 

At  last  a  solemn  grace 
Concluded,  and  we  sought  the  gardens  :  there 
One  walk'd  reciting  by  herself,  and  one 
In  this  hand  held  a  volume  as  to  read. 
And  smoothed  a  petted  peacock  down  with 

that : 
Seme  to  a  low  song  oar'd  a  shallop  by. 
Or  under  arches  of  the  marble  bridge 
Hung,  shadow'd  from  the  heat:  some  hid 

and  sought 
In  the  orange  thickets  :  others  tost  a  ball 
Above  the  fountain-jets,  and  back  again 
With  laughter :  others  lay  about  the  lawns. 
Of  the  older  sort,  and  murmur'd  that  their 

May 
Was  passing :  what  was  learning  unto  them  ? 
Ihey  wish'd  to  marry;  they  could  rule  a 

house ; 
Men  hated  learned  women  :  but  we  three 
Sat  niuffled  like  the  Fates ;  and  often  came 
Melissa  hitting  all  we  saw  with  shafts 
Of  gentle  satire,  kin  to  charity. 
That  ham.  d    not:    then  day  droopt  •    the 

chapel  bells 
Call'd  us :  we  left  the  walks ;  we  mixt  with 

those 
Six  hundred  maidens  clad  in  purest  white, 
Before  two  streams  of  light  from  wall  to  wall. 
While  the  great  organ  almost  burst  his  pipes, 
Oroanmg  for  power,  and  rolling  thro'  the 

court 
A  long  melodious  thunder  to  the  sound 
Of  solemn  psalms,  and  silver  litanies, 
1  he  work  of  Ida,  to  call  dowif  from  Heaven 
A  blessing  on  her  labors  for  the  world. 


Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest. 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 

Under  the  silver  moon  : 
Sleep,  my  .ittle  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one. 


III. 

Morn  in  the  white  wake  of  the  mominB 
star  " 

Came  furrowing  all  the  orient  into  gold. 
We  rose,  and  each  by  other  drest  with  care 
Descended  to  the  court  that  lay  three  parts 
in    shadow,   but    the    Muses'    heads   were 

touch 'd 
Above  the  darkness  from  their  native  East. 


Sweet  and  low,  Sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea  I 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
C<wie  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me  ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one. 
sleeps. 


There  while  w.    stood  beside  the  fount, 
and  watch'd 
Or  seem'd  to  watch  the  dancing   bubble,' 

approach'd 
Melissa,  tinged  with  wan  from  lack  of  sleep. 
Or  grief,  and  glowing  round  her  dewy  eyes 
.1  he  circled  Iris  of  a  night  of  tears; 
'  And  fly,"  she  cried,  "  O  fly,  while  yet  you 

may  1 
My  mother  knows  "  :  and  when  I  ask'd  her 

"how," 
"  My  fault,"  she  wept,  "  my  fault  1  and  yet 

not  mine ; 
Vet  mine  in  part.    O  hear  me,  pardon  me. 
My  mother,'  t  is  her  wont  from  night  to  night 
To  rail  at  Lady  Psyche  and  her  side. 
She  says  the  Princess  should  have  been  the 

Head, 
Herself  and  Lady  Psyche  the  two  arras  ; 
And  so  it  was  agreed  when  first  they  came  ; 
But  Lady  Psyche  was  the  right  hand  now. 
And  she  the  left,  or  not,  or  seldom  used  ; 
Hers  more  than  half  the  students,  all  the 

love. 
And  so  last  night  she  fell  to  canvass  you  : 
''Her  countrywomen  I   she  did  not  envy 

her. 
Who  ever  saw  such  wild  barbarians  ? 
Girls?—  more  like  men  I "  and  at  these  words 

the  snake. 
My  secret,  seem'd  \.a  stir  within  my  breast ; 
And  O,  Sirs,  could  I  help  it,  but  my  cheek 
Began  to  bum  and  burn,  and  her  lynx  eye 
I  To  fix  and  make  me  hotter,  till  she  laugh'd  : 
'  "  O  marvellously  modest  maiden,  you  1 
Men  I  girls,  like  men  I  why,  if  they  had  been 

men 
You  need  not  set  your  thoughts  in  rubric 

thus 
For  v.'hnlcsrJc  comment."     Fardon,  I  am 

shamed 
That  I  must  needs  repeat  for  my  excuse 
What  looks  so  little  graceful :  "  men  "  (fbi 

still 
My  mother  went  rtvolvine  on  the  word) 
And  so  thsy  are,  —  very  like  men  indeed  — 


rest, 

e  soon  ; 

east, 

e  soon ; 

»be  iu  the  nest, 

west 

sp,  my  pretty  one, 


ke  or  the  morning 

ient  into  ^old. 
er  drest  vvith  cart 
lat  lay  three  parts 
uses'    heads   were 

heir  native  East. 

beside  the  fount, 

dancing   bubble, 

from  lack  of  sleep, 
d  her  dewy  eye* 
of  tears ; 
fly,  while  yet  you 

when  I  ask'd  her 

ly  fault  I  and  yet 

me,  pardon  me. 
rom  night  to  night 
her  side, 
lid  have  been  the 

he  two  arras  ; 
first  they  came ; 
ight  hand  now, 
seldom  used  ; 
students,  all  the 

canvass  you : 
i  did   not  envy 

rbarians  ? 

ad  at  these  words 

thin  my  breast ; 
,  but  my  cheek 
d  her  lynx  eye 

till  she  laugh'd  : 
liden,  you  1 

if  they  had  been 

oughts  in  rubric 

ParduB,   I  am 

'  my  excuse 
il :  "  men  "  (fo» 

n  the  word) 
e  men  indetd  —■ 


And  with  that  woman  closeted  for  hours  !  " 
Ihen  came  these  dreadful  words  ou°  o"e  by 

7''''i"orCw-7t'?-^"''=^'''-^^"''^-- 

°tno"wstr,""^'"^^^"''--"A"d«he 

And  she  conceals  it."   So  my  mother  clutch'd 
The  truth  at  once,  but  with  no  word  fronV  me 
And  now  thus  earK-  risen  she  goes  o Tnform' 
1  he  Princess:  Lady  Psyche  wfll  be  crush'd     I 
But  you  may  yet  be  saved,  and  therefore  fly :  ' 
But  heal  me  with  your  pardon  ere  you  go"'     i 


A   MSDLeV. 


sweet    Melissa,    for 


"What    pardon, 
blush?" 
Said  Cyril:   "Pale  one,  blush  again:  than 

wcdr 
Those  lilies,  better  blush  our  lives  away. 

Healen/'  °"*  ''""•^  '"°'«  '« 

He  added.  "  lest  some  classic  Aneel  sneak 
In  scorn  of  us.  '  they  mountedrcfnymedes 
But  r  •  f '  ^"'^^n'''  ""  'he  second  m^rn'' 
Tn    •  u"  ""/'t '''is  marble  into  wax 
To  yield  us  farther  furlough  »  :  aThe  went. 

"""a''sk'd,°"''*'"'°'^""  "^«""^'"  f"'o"an 
"  How  grew  this  feud  betwixt  the  right  and 

"O  long  ago,"  she  said,  "  betwixt  these  twn 
Division  smoulders  hidden  :  'tTs  my  mother 

PenVfn  r^'  °-'^'"'  ^'■^"■"'  »^  'he  wind  ' 

Pent  in  a  crevice  :  much  I  bear  with  her  • 

/rnnT  r^r  "^y '■^"'er,  but  she  says       " 
A   J  he  P.her)  she  was  wedded  to  a  fool  • 
She  hp  '  t"  ""''*  feainst  the  state  of  things 
An^  f     the  care  of  Lady  Ida's  youth    ^ 
And  from  jhe  Queen's  lecease  lh"e tought 

Of 'r!j!,'?I°""'*'"  """e  she  won  the  heart 
fp-L  *   ^'''^y  "««=  «'•'•  together,  grevv 

A.hie^t"h:fh°aa;w':f%"°blr?r^ii?  '^'^^'  ^ 


89 

I  ^m  Erhf""'  °  "5'  5""««  '  '^"6  she  errs, 
I  ThLl  Z'     "*"  grand  way ;  being  herself 

me"n"  """■*  ""'''*  "'*"  tWe-score  of 

To  hllnH^f  "'.^^-'l^er  error  like  a  cro^U 
lo  blind  the  truth  and  me  :  for  her,  and  her 
Hebe     >re  they  to  hand  ambrosia,  niix 

"  "mov^'    '"'-="'   ^he-when^'^r  she 
The  Samian  Her4  rises  and  she  sptaks 
A  Memnon  smitten  with  the  morning  Sun." 


^°  g?ii"^'  ^'°"'  ""*  """  **  P»"d.  and 

The  terrace  ranged  along  the  Northern  front 

Above  th':!  """^  ?'V''.°^«  balusters,  hgh' 

gale  ""P^'P'^'^  champaign,  drankShe 

That  blown  about  the  foliage  underneath 
And  sated  with  the  innumerable  ro?e!      ' 
Beat  balm  upon  our  eyelids.     Hither  came 
.9yj''',«"d  yawning  " O  hard  task,"  he  c?i?d  • 
No  fighting  shadows  here  I    I  forced"  wa"y 
Thro  solid  opposition  crabb'd  and  gnarl'd 
Better  to  clearpnme  forests,  heave  and  thump 
Tlin^"°  of  street  111  summer  solstice  dowm*^ 

I  knock-d'^nn?'.'^^  """^"^  gentlewom";. 

i  knock  d  and,  bidden,  enter'd ;  found  her 

tncrc 
At  point  to  move,  and  settled  in  her  eyes 
The  green  malignant  light  of  coming  storm. 
Asmin^^rn?w  K  """'  """"'f  Ph^se  well-oii'd, 
^^c:l^'^°:tl^^I:  ?«i.™<den-meek  I  pray',} 


"  An'ope'St'Id  mi-n""'  «'^'"S  after  her : 
^^  I  f^K^w-hni's^re-strhow 

prid\.°        ""='''"  "^'"«'''J  '^'h  erring 
Nor  like  poor  Psyche  whom  she  drags  in  tow. " 

"  ^  cra?e""'"  ^  '^'^'  "  '"'y  shatter  of  the 
An^fclTg— ^-tSe.butI      i 


Concealment  .•  s-he  de'manTed  who've  17, 
And  why  we  came  .>  I  fabled  noth W  fair,  ' 
But,  your  example  pilot,  told  her  all 

Up  went  the  hush'd  amaze  of  hand  and 
She  atweJ'H^"  upon  your  old  affianc. 

t     "ourS^sl'^*^^-    ^•— weharifmed 
With  open  eyes,  and  we  must  take  the  chance 
'harm""""""'  ^  ""''  ^er,  well Sht 

^'''  ~s"aid""'*'    "  ^°*  ™°'*  ">'«  "°^'" 
,  I  ?h.^"1k'*'*  ''i' '?  "J'h  favoritism." 
'  befafl  "'  '''"■'•     S""""*  "ish' 

Melissa,  knowing,  saving  not  she  knew : 
Her  answer  wa.    "Leave  me  to  deal  with 

I  spoke  of  war  to  come  and  many  deaths 

AnH  fl  '7^'^^- !""  ''"•y  was  to  speak;  ' 
And  duty  duty,  clear  of  consequences 
I  grew  discouraged.  Sir,  but  s?nce  I  knew 
No  rock  so  hard  but  th.it  s  liule  Wave 
May  beat  admission  in  a  thousand  years 

I  fin'd  V  "''r'^.i  "  P'^'^''^'^  "<"  ere  voS  pluse 
I  find  you  here  but  in  the  second  lilace 

Some  s^ay^the  third  -  the  authentic'^foundre.s 
I  oflfer  boldly  :  we  will  seat  you  highest  • 
h'"''-  \'  ?"■•  advent :  help  r^y  prince  to 't^ain 
H.S  rightful  bride,  and  here  / promiL  ylu 


90 


THE  PRINCESS'. 


W         :!  \ 


.     li 


Some  palace  in  our  land,  where  you  shall 

reign 
The  head  and  heart  of  all  our  fair  she-world 
And  your  great  name  flow  on  with  broaden- 
ing time 
ForeverJ'     Well,  she  balanced  this  a  little. 
And  told  me  she  would  answer  us  to-day,      • 
Meantime  be  mute  :  thus  much,  nor  more  I 
gain'd." 

..  .S^  ceasing,  came  a  message  from  the  Head, 
'i-i      ,■  *"ernoon  the  Princess  rode  to  take 
Mr     ,  '^  ""'  '^^'■'a'"  strata  to  the  North. 
Would  we  go  with  her  ?  we  should  find  the 

land 
Worth  seeing ;  and  the  river  made  a  fall 
Out  yonder"  ;  then  she  pointed  onto  where 
A  double  hill  ran  up  his  lurrowy  forks 
Beyond  the  thick-leaved  platans  of  the  vale. 

Agreed  to,  this,  the  day  fled  on  thro'  all 
Its  range  of  duties  to  the  appointed  liour 
1  hen  summon'd  to  the  porch  we  went.     She 

stood 
Among  her  maidens,  higher  by  the  head 
Her  back  against  a  pillar,  her  foot  on  one 
•  Of  those  tame  leopards.    Kittenlike  he  roll'd 
And  paw'd  about  her  sandal.     I  drew  near  : 
I  gazed.     On  a  sudden  my  strange  seizure 

came 
Upon  me,  the  weird  vision  of  our  house  • 
1  he  Prmcess  Ida  seem'd  a  hollow  show, 
Her  gay-furr'd  cats  a  painted  fantasy. 
Her  college  and  her  maidens,  empty  masks, 
And  I  myself  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 
For  all  things  were  and  were  not.     Yet  I  felt 
My  heart  beat  thick  with  passion  and  with 

awe  ; 
Then  from  my  breast  the  involuntary  sigh 
Brake,  ?s  she  smote  me  with  the  light  of 

eyes 
That  lent  my  knee  desire  to  kneel,  and  shook 
My  p,-'ses,  till  to  hors«  we  got,  and  so 
Went  forth  in  long  retinue  following  up 
Ihe  river  as  it  narrow'd  to  the  hills. 

«  A  f"'^^  beside  her  and  to  me  she  said  : 

O  friend,  we  trust  that  you  esteem'd  us  not 
loo  harsh  to  your  companion  yester-morn  ; 
Unwillingly  we  spake."  "  No  -  not  to  her  " 
1  answer'd,  "  but  to  one  of  whom  we  spake 
Your  Highness  might  have  seem'd  the  thine 

you  sav." 
"Again?"  she  cried,    "are  you  ambassa- 
dresses 
From  him  to  me  ?  we  give  you,  being  strange, 
A  license  :  speak,  and  let  the  topic  die." 


"Poor  boy," she  said,  "can  he  not  read 
—  no  books .' 

^""''"tlfa""'^'  ^''"  ~  "°  games?  nor  deals  in 
Which  men  delight  in,  martial  exercise? 
lo  nurse  a  blind  ideal  like  a  pirl 
Methinks  he  seems  no  better  than  a  girl  • 

^been*"*   °"'^^'   ^*   """   ""'■*^"   "^""^^ 

^^  ''^he°'r-  '^'^'^"'^  '  P"''^P^  ^^  'n'^'  with 

Rlinr^'l  °"  °"''.  ^^""^  ^«'f-  "o--  s'l""  t"  do  it, 
'^^'"So^ther- since  we  learnt  our  meaning 

To  lift  the  'woman's  fall'n  divinity. 
Upon  an  even  pedestal  with  man." 

She  paused,  and  added  with  a  haughtier 
smile :  '' 

"And    as  to  precontracts,  we  move,    my 

At  no  man's  beck,  but  know  ourself  and 
thee, 

0  Vashti,  noble  Vashti  I    Summon'd  out 
bhe  kept  her  state,  and  left  the  drunken  king 

1  o  brawl  at  Shushan  underneath  the  palms  " 


I  Stan  .ner'd  that  I  knew  him  — could  have 

wish  d  — 
"Our  king  expects  — was  there  no  precon- 

tract  ? 
There  is  no  truer-hearted  —  ah,  von  sppm 
All  he  prefigured,  and  he  could  not  see 
1  he  bird  of  passage  flying  south  but  long'd 
1  o  follow :  surely,  if  your  Highness  keep 
xour  purport,  you  will  shock  him  ev'n 

death, 
Or  baser  courses,  children  of  despair." 


to 


"Alas  your  Highness  breathes  fiill  East." 

I  said, 
"  On  that  which  leans  to  you.     I  know  the 

Prince, 
I  prize  his  truth  :  and  then  how  vast  a  work 
10  assail  this  gray  pre-eminence  of  man  I 
V^  fa"' me  license  ;  might  I  use  it?  think, 
lire  half  be  done  perchance  your  life  may 

fail ;  ' 

Then  comes  the  feebler  heiress  of  your  plan. 
And  takes  and  ruins  all  ;  and  thus  your  pains 
May  only  make  that  footprint  upon  sand 
Which  old-recurrinp  waves  of  prejudice 
Kesmooth  to  nothing :  niight  I  dread  that 

w  u  y°"' 

With  only  Fame  for  spouse  and  your  great 

deeds 
For  issue,  yet  may  live  in  vain,  and  miss, 
Meanwhile,  what  every  woman  counts  her 

due. 
Love,  children,  happiness?" 
„  T,  And  she  exclaim'd. 

Peace,  you  young  savage  of  the  Northern 
wild  I 
What  1  tho'  your  Prince's  love  were  like  a 

God's, 
Have  we  not  made  ourself  the  sacrifice  ? 
You  are  bold  indeed :  we  are  not  talk'd  to 

thus: 

Yet  will  we  say  for  children,  would  they  grew 
Like  field-flowers  everywhere  I  we  like  them 

well : 
But  children  die  ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  girl, 
Howe'eryou  babble,  great  deeds  cannot  die  : 
I  hey  with  the  sun  and  moon   renew  their 

light 
nZ^A^^'  b'essing  those  that  look  on  them. 
Children  —  that  men  may  pluck  them  from 

our  hearts. 
Kill  us  with  pity,  break  us  with  ourselves  — 
O  —  children  —  there  is  nothing  upon  earth 


^1 

'Vl 


perhaps  he  mixt  with 


)use  and  your  great 


's  love  were  like  a 


A   MEDLEY. 


More  miserable  than  she  that  has  a  son 
Anu  sees  him  err :  nor  would  we  work  for 

lame  ; 
Tho'  she  jserhaps  might  reap  the  applause  of 

Who  learns  the  one  pou  STo  whence  after- 
hands 
May  move  the  world,  tho'  she  herself  effect 
gut  little  :  wherefore  up  and  act.  nor  shrink 
*or  (ear  our  solid  aim  be  dissipated 
By  frail  successors.     Would,  indeed,  we  had 

been, 
III  lieu  of  many  mortal  flies,  a  race 
Of  giants  living,  each,  a  thousand  years, 
mat  we  might  see  our  own  work  out.  and 

wa'.ch 
The  sandy  footprint  harden  into  stone." 


91 


I  answer'd  nothing,  doubtful  in  myself 
If  that  strange  Poet-princess  with  her  grand 
A^'^S'nations  might  at  all  be  won. 
And  she  broke  out  interpreting  my  thoughts  : 

"  No  doubt  we  seem  a  kind  of  monster  to 

fV^mnM^''^^"  "'^'  '•   ''°''  r'"^"-  "P  »i"  this 

Cramp  d  under  worse  than    South-sea-isle 

taboo, 
Dwarfs  of  the  gynxceum.  fail  so  far 
In  high  desire.they  know  not,  cannot  guess 
How  much  their  welfare  is  a  passion  to  us 
If  we  could  give  them  surer,  quicker  proof- 
O  If  our  end  were  less  achievable 
Ky  slow  approaches,  than  by  single  act 
iJt  immolation,  any  phase  of  death, 

'^'pikef  '"'°™^'  '°  ^P""^  ^^^'"^'  '""^ 
Or  down  the  fiery  gulf  as  talk  of  it, 
i.o  compass  our  dear  sisters'  liberties." 

She  bow'd  as  if  to  veil  a  noble  tear ;  ' 

And  up  we  came  to  where  the  river  sloped 

b"ocks"  *^^'^''^"=''  shattering  on  ^lack 
An^'"^""  of  thunder.  O'er  it  shook  the  woods 

Thf  hnn^^""  ^'''•"■'  ^"''^  below,  stuck  out' 

"  As  Ihe^sLT/h.^'^'  P'"*'  ^^''''^  ^"d  «»W. 
That  wfll  ho  "    -T'  '°  "^-,=*''«  ^'e  to  her 

Tsk'd!'  ^^     "™  °^  "'^''"  ^ 

"  ^'^  worT.°"^'''  "'*  ^'  ^^^  *°^''™^n  a"d  his 
That  pra«ice  betters  ?  "   "  How."  she  cried. 

She  rapt  „p„n  h^-subjct" h"e"^'^'h"r?'  "^  ' 
For  there^are  schools  L all."     "  And  yet."  I 

"Methink's  I  have  not  found  among  them 

One  anatomic."   "  Nay,  we  thought  of  that  " 
She  answer'd.  "but  it  p^'eased  usnot:  in  trml, 


^^  '''ape  "  ''"'  '"  '^'■"'"  °"''  ""^'^^  should 
^''"'"iJllund,'""'  ■""'"  "'^'  '"""  "'«  "^!"K 
^''^   g^rve'"""  "^'"^  *''''  frasments  of  tha 

aI'JVt  ^""'^  dissolving  human  heart. 
And  holy  secrets  of  this  microcosm. 
Dabbling  a  shameless  hand  with  shameful 

Knnwl?J'"  ■''";'■  '''T''^  ••  ye'  "-e  know 

hanis:'  ''"°^'^'^e«'  «"d  this  matter 
Howbeit  ourself,  foreseeing  casualtv, 
Nor  w.lln_^^  „,en  should  come  ahJong  us, 

For  many  weary  moons  before  we  came 
1  his  cra^^  of  healing.     Were  you  sick!'our- 

Wouldjend  upon  you.     To  your  question 

Which  touches  on  the  workman  and  his  work. 
Let  there  be  light  and  there  was  light:  't  isso- 
For  was,  and  is,  and  will  be,  are  but  is ; 
And  all  creation  is  one  act  at  once 
The  birth  of  light :  but  we  that  are  not  all 
As  parts,  can  see  but  parts,  now  this,  no'w 

And  live,  perforce,  from  thought  to  thoiieht 
anu  make  ^    ' 

One  act  a  pnantom  of  succession  :  thus 
Our  weakness  somehow  shapes  the  shadow, 
lime  ; 

Ihlttnl^oth^rlr^LT.^''-"^-"''' 

S'oHSf -7"  --r-  '^'^  ^  •«  beS: 

O,.  fl.,„    ^  ^"^P  of  pinewood  crossing,  came 
F Mil  nf^f^'u^^'^'"  underneath  the  cragf 
rFnr  I      '  u^^^'y/  .     O  how  sweet,"  i  said, 
(For  I  was  half-oblivious  of  my  mask,)        ' 

■' Tea  ""°  ^'^^  °"^  "'''  ^""^^  "^•" 
rllnu-r^'uh  "'"■  "-jth  fair  philosophies 

Are  ovilv^l  '^"r"  •  ^°'  V"^^^'^  '^ese  fields 
Are  lovely,  lovelier  not  the  Elysian  lawns 

•S^'.^rf  •.''"'  Demigods  o'f  old,  and  saw 

°owere"      '"'^'  ^"'^*''  "'^  <:'owned 

^"'''  maiMs"  ^"""'  ^^^"'  *"™'"K  *°  ^"^ 
"  Pitch  our  pavilion  here  upon  the  sward  ; 

A  t^en?  of  «r-'""t-K   ^'  'r""""^'  they  raised 
w-.u  r  °' ?,*tin,  elaborately  wrought 

^ni^r^L'-h.""""^'"  'i'"'?'P'^ :  here  she  stood. 
Engirt  with  many  a  florid  iraiden-cheek. 
'^^^^|""<^onqueror  :    •, /oman-conquer'd 

InH  ^Juu""^  ^'^'°''  °^  ten-thousand  hymns, 
And  all  the  men  mm,rn'd  at  hissi.Hs  •  kn  we 
Set  forth  tociimb  ;  then,  climbing.  Cvril  kept 
With  Psyche  with  Melissa  FloiTan/I        ^ 

ninr^^'rl^'"?""^-  r^^'^y  »  "ttle  hand 
M.nv  ,  !•  \^V°"'t'''^^""«hineon  the  rocks, 
T.,?^  ^i'^^'  '^°'  ^"^one  like  a  jewel  set 

wound  "^^'  '"'^  '^"^  "*  ^""'''^'  *• 
About  the  cliffs,  t'.e  copses,  out  and  in, 


b    S 


'•it 


I 


"'"""mf,'"''  •=""'''"«•  «='^»«"ing  stony 
Of  shal^e^and  hornblende.  r,g  and  trap  and 

Amygdaloid  and  trachyte,  till  the  q.m 
Grew  broader  toward  l^is  dei'tfcS,,.  and 

Tl>e  rosy  heights  came  out  above  the  lawns. 

The  splendor  falllon  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  Ibices 

'a^n5:?:fc:ttrefs, 


THE  PRIS'CESS: 


° '°^«'  <'i?y  die  in  yon  rich  sky 
1  .ley  faint  on  hil/ or  field  or^lver  • 


"'""ail."  •''"'^^"'"-  flittering  on  a 
That  b^^ngs  our  friends  up  from  the  under- 

f  hlt^'i^'^s  wtriir^^i^'^-,^  r-  "- 
sosad.sofrestlX^^,^'S^';;=;.r■• 

"Ah^^sad^a„d  strange  as  in  dark  summer 

tJ  dvfni''tP'Pl°f  half  awaken'd  birds 
lo  aymg  ears,  when  unto  dying  eves 
A  he  casement  slowly  grows  f  ^K^„    • 
•quare-  K™ws  a  glimmering 

So.ad,so.tr;nge.,hedays.hatarenomore 


IT. 

"'^"'sUn''"'"  "" '"''"'°»'  ••«  »»  cill  are 

Stimng  a  sudden  transport  rose  and  fell 

j'^&;;^oti'*'™''>--««<>us: 

The  minme,  fledged  with  music":  and  a 
Of  those^beside  her.  smote  her  harp,  and 


"^ mSi'"'  **'»^  I  """w  not  what  they 


Shf/anglfff  shooVand?eTr  ""''  ""*•"••. 
About  the  moulder'd  lodges  of  the  Past 

^*""  nghtV  ^'"  ^■"''  °^  "'1"=^  ""igh'*  and 

Their  cancell-d  Babels  f  tho'lh^'e'rVuif  kl, 

nn^*'.1'''''''u'"J?**'<=>  3"d  ♦'•e  wid  goat  hane 
Upon  the  shaft,  and  the  wild  fig-tree  snfi? 
]he,r  monstrous  idols,  care  not  while  we  hear 

Of'biu^r'inH '^  ''^'"""  pealing  news'  '"' 
aL.     1  •  *'"'.  ^°P«'  a  po  s  ng  eagle  bums 

Of  promise  ;  not  a  death's-head  at  the  wine." 

wfc^rrw'Sh^zr^r^'^-"'^'''^' 

joutl,     "^^  "  '"0  swallow  wingiog 


id  gather  to  the  eyes 
Jppy  Aiitumn-lields  ' 
days  that  are  no  more. 

■St  beam  glittering  on  a 

nds  up  from  the  under- 

>  reddens  over  one 

ke  Jove  below  the  verge  • 

days  that  are  no  moil 

nge  as  in  dark  summer 

half-awaken'd  birds 

unto  dying  eyes 

i  grows  a  glimmering 

s  days  that  are  no  more. 

r'd  kisses  after  death, 
'  "opeless  fancy  feign 'd 
hers;  deep  as  love, 

wild  with  all  regret  ; 
lay»  that  are  no  more." 

»  passion  that  the  tear, 
1  fell,  an  erring  pearl 
Jt  with  some  disdain 
s:   "U  indeed  there 

adges  of  the  Past 
ague,  fatal  to  men, 
d  cram  our  ears  with 

tie  M^  fancies  hatch'd 
s  ;  nor  is  it 
:casion  lost, 
let  old  bygones  be, 
18  that  float  us  each 

tlittering  bergs  of  ice, 

I  molten  on  the  waste 

II  things  serve  their 

3f  equal  mights  and 

ron  laws,  in  the  end 
ast  be  past ;  let  be 
tho'  the  rough  kex 

he  wild  goat  hang 
ivild  fig-tree  split 
e  not  while  we  hear 
:  pealing  news 
aising  eagle,  bums 
1     :  then  to  me, 
aurown  land,"  she 

It  the  retrospect, 
distance  and  the 

head  at  the  wine." 

myself  had  made, 
swallow  winging 


11 


"The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 
And  snowy  summits  old  in  story." 


'"■'""  S'pa^  '""''•  P"'  """>«  '""«  »'"«. 
AS  1  could  ape  their  treble,  did  1  sing. 

Fly  ?o  £ "C*  f^]T*''"°^'  ."y'"'^'  ''y'"8  South, 
riy  to  ler,  and  fall  upon  her  e  Ided  eavi.« 

And  tell  her.  tell  her  what  I  tell  to  thee 

"°ea?h.*'"'  ^'^^"°*'  »'i"'»  'hat  knowest 
That  brighl  and  fie.ce  and  fickle  i,  the  South 
And  dark  and  true  and  tender  is  the  Nor"h  ' 

''°anriiS'^"'"°"''^'""''»'"°"°- 
Upon  her  lattice,  I  would  pipe  and  trill. 
And  cheep  and  tw.tter  twenty  million  loves. 

And'larm.  L' V"  '^'  ''"=  '"'Sht  take  me  in, 
Wouiyrn^u  ?    ''"  ''°'°'"-  '"'^  her  heart 
Would  rock  the  snowy  cradle  till  I  died. 

"^Jl^th'Fo^ve?"'  *''"  *"  ''°""'  •>"  ">"'' 
DelayinR  as  the  tender  ash  delays 

g«en  ?"*""■  ''''"  '"  "'^  «°°d5  are 


^    MEDLEY. 


93 

f  lnv!'A°^  canionets  and  serenades. 

1  loved  her.    Peace  be  with  her.    Sheisdeid 

So  they  bhspheme  the  musel   but  g?eaTis 

Used  to  great  ends :  ourself  have  often  tried 
Valkynan  hymns,  or  into  rhythm  have  dasi  "d 
1  he  passion  of  the  prophe.ess  :  for  sonK 
Is  duer.unto  freedom,  /orce  and  gromh* 
Of  spirit,  than  to  junketing  and  fove 
Love  is^it^?    Wou/dthissa^emock.love,and 

Mock-Hymen  were  laid  up  like  win'er  bat, 
1.1   all  men  grew  to  rate  us  at  our  worth      ' 
Not  vassals  to  be  beat,  nor  pretty  babes 
^^'spS''   "°'    ''""-"/will:.   a..d 

"^'""Ei^ough  l"'""    ''"'    "^""^    '°    "->«■ 
But  now  to  leaven  play  with  profit,  you. 
Know  you  no  song,  the  true  growth  of  your 


"°  flown'!"'  ^"'""'"''  *'»*'  "'y  brood  is 

lu^  in  llfl'ii  '^?.,''J"  ''"?*''"  '■"  ">e  South 
But  in  the  North  long  since  my  nest  is  made. 

Atid^-X'f  l!?!'  ''"«'■ '»'ife.  b»t  love  is  lon^. 
And  ;r  ef  the  sun  of  summer  in  the  North 
And  brief  the  moon  of  beauty  "n  the  South. 

Flv  ?o  her 'ITJ  ''y'"^'  ^'T  *b*  golden  woods, 
her  mine.'"''*'         ''°°  ''"•  '""^ '"'''« 
And  tell  her,  tell  her,  that  I  follow  thee." 

Likelhellh'.".'^  '"  '^'  '?'""■.  «'=h  =>'  "«=b. 
^.,,.i-.i!  '"'"""  s""ors  n  old  time 
Stared  wuh  great  eyes,  and  laugh'd  Slien 

And  knew'j,ot  what  they  meant ;  for  still  my 

Rang  false  :  but  smiling.  "  Not  for  thee."  she 

^''•°.™S''  ''*'°  »  EOT..    K„™ 

«!h«  »■._.  u         °  '  m^  d  of  honor  once  • 
She  wept  her  true  eyes  blind  for  such  a  ine, 


^''^  w'ilh 'eye"''  '""''' ''"  ""•"P'""""  head 
Of  shining  expectation  fixt  on  mine. 

^'"■'''  wioCgS"""  "'«  bell-mouth'd  flask  had 
Or  master'd  by  the  sense  of  sport,  began 

O?  mV  "'yil"'-  "'*'"»  'avern-catch 
Of  Moll  and  Meg.  and  strange  experiences 
Unmeet  for  ladies.     Florian  nodded  at  him 
sho'o^  ^"'"^^  ^'"'^''^  '"'I  wann'd  aT,d 

"  Fo!£ar''"  ^IfT-  '''■"°P'<'>r  b^"ws  ; 

sfr?"P     P'-'ncesscned;   "Forbear, 

^"^  ''lolt''  '*"'°'  *"^  ""■°'  ''"''  '^^'b  and 
I  smote  him  on  the  breast ;  he  started  up : 
There  rcse  a  shnek  as  of  a  city  sack'd- 
M'hssa^chmpr-d,  "Flee  the  death";  "To 

Said  Ida^;  "home!  to  horse!"  and  fled,  as 
A  troop  of  snowy  doves  athwart  the  dusk. 

dMra'  °"*  '  ^'   "^^  dovecote- 

Disorderly,  the  women.    Alone  I  stood 

Tn  ,h.  J""?"'  *="T"S  ?y"''  '^"t  ■■>»  heart. 
Ti,      i^'7u''°"  =  'here  like  parting  hopes 

hoof ""  P'**'"8  ^■°"'  '"« '•   hoof  by 
And  every  hoof  a  knel!  to  my  desire^ 

shriek         "^^"'   """^  'hen  another 
'"^he  Head.jthe  Head,  the  Princess,  O  the 

^°'  ''"oHm"*  "^^  '*"  """"'^  the  plank,  and 
^"  ""'  "i"-.    ^"'  ^  *P""K  from  glow  to 

There      -irl'd'  her  white  robe  like  a  bios- 

»    .1  d  branch 
Rapt  to  the  horrible  faU  ;  a  glance  I  gave, 


94 

N, 

Plu 


THE  PRINCESS: 


•vested  as  I  was 

a  (ire*;  yet  I  caught 


Oaring  one 
The  weight  v 


'  "iring  in  my  left 

c.         '.■'V  -         "•  ■     ,""">f  half  ihe  world. 
Strove  to  butfet  to  lauj  ,„     m     A  tree 
Was  half-disrooted  from  hit.    )ace  and  stoop'd 
1  o  drench  his  dark  locks  ni  the  giirKling  wave 
M.d-channel.     Right  on  this  we  drove  and 

caught, 
And  grasping  down  the  boughs  I  gain'd  the 

There  stood  lier    maidens   glimmerinely 

In  the  hollow  bank.     One  reaching  forward 
drew 

My  biirthen   from   mine  arms;   they  cried 

one  lives  !  " 
They  bore  her  back  into  the  tent ;  but  I 
io  much  a  kindof  shame  within  mo  wrought, 
Not  yet  endured  to  meet  her  opening  eyes, 
Nor  found  my  fnends  ;  but  pui'd. alone  ou 

loot 
(For  since  her  horse  was  lost  I  left  her  mine) 
Across  the  woods,  and  less  from  Indian  craft 
i  ban  beelike  mstinct  hiveward,  found  at 

length 
Y  "  garden  portals.     Two  great  statues.  Art 
A(,     Science,  Caryatids,  lif.ed  up 
A  v>    ight  of  emblem,  and  betwi.xt  were  valves 
Of  open-work  in  which  the  hunter  rued 
H     rash  intrusion,  manlike,  but  his  brows 
Had  sprouted,  and  the  branches  thereupon 
bpread  out  at  top,  and  grimly  spiked  the 
gates. 

A  little  space  was  left  between  the  horns, 
Ihro   which  I  clamber'd   o'er  at  top  with 

pain, 
iJropt  on  the  sward,  and  up  the  linden  walks. 
And,  tost  on  thoughts  that  chingedfiom  hue 

to  hue. 
Now  poring  on  the  glow-worm,  now  the  star, 
I  paced  the  terrace  till  the  bear  had  wheelM 
inro  a  great  arc  his  seven  slow  suns. 

Of  lightest  echo,  th.  ■  a  loftier  form    ^  "^'' 
man   female,   moving   thro'   the   uncertain 
gloom, 

""she  '^^  '^'"'  ^^^  ^°"^'  "■'"  '*''*  ^^'^ 
But  it  was  Florian.    "  Hist.  O  hist,"  he  said, 

1  hey  seek  us  :  out  so  late  is  out  of  rules. 
Moreover  Seize  the  strangers  '  is  the  cry 
How  came  you  here  .?"  I  told  him  :  "I,"  said 

he,  ' 

"Last  of  the  train,  a  moral  leper,  I, 
10  whom  none  spake,  h?;f-sick  at  heart,  re- 
turn'd,  ' 

Arriving  all  confused  amor,    -he  r^st 
With  hooded  brows  I  cr<-pt\        ♦',<>  ha'l 

And  couch'd  behind  a  Juditli.      ,  n    ' ',h 
1  Me  head  of  Hoiofcmes  ptcri./ J  .    .;  aa.,- 

Oirl  after  girl  was  call'd  to  in: 

Disclaira'd  all  knowledge  of 

Melissa  :  trust  me.  Sir,  I  pi;;,- 

5he,  question'd  if  the  knew  v 


Was  silent  .•  closer  prest,  .lenied  it  not 
-yid  then,  demanded  if  her  mother  knew. 
Or  i'syche,  sh#  afnrm'd  not,  or  denied  • 
Prom  whence  tir.-  Royal  raind,  familiar  with 

Easily  gather'd  either  guilt.     She  sent 

'     can'd'  ^'^^  """*  "°'  "'"'':  »he 

For  I>.sych«'s  child  to  cast  it  from  the  doors  • 

'face  "'•''  '"  ^""^^  »>"  '«e  "^ 

And  I  slipt  out :  but  whither  will  you  now' 
And  where  are  Psyche,  Cyril .>  bo.1,  are  fled: 
W  :  i:.       ?«•=""=■■,•   ''''l'  «ere  not  so  «  ell. 
Would  rather  we  had  never  come  !  I  dread 
His  wildness,  and  the  chances  of  the  dark  " 

"^"tha^n'i"  '  **"''  "^°"  '^'■""^  ''■'"  "'"•■'' 
That  struck  him  ;  this  is  proper  to  the  clown 

'do^  n   '  "^  ''"''  ''"'*'''''•  '""  •'"^ 

To  liarm  the  thing  that  trusts  him,  and  to 

shame 
That  which  he  says  he  loves  :   for  Cyril 
howe  er  ^/'"> 

He  deal  in  frolic,  as  tonight  -  the  song 
Mig.it  have  been  worse  and  sinn'd  in  grosser 

lips  " 

Beyond  all  pardon  —  as  it  is,  I  hold 
I  hese  flashes  on  the  surface  aro  not  he. 
He  has  a  solid  base  of  temperament  • 
Hut  as  the  water-lil-  Marts  and  slides 
Upon  the  level  in  lutlc  puffs  of  wind, 
Iho  anrhor'd  to  the  bottom,  such  is  he." 

Scarce  had  I  ceased  when  from  a  tamarisk 
ne3r 

'^*°    '^Names,-'"^'     "P""     ""^    ^'■""K. 
He,  standing  ■  t'ill,  was  clutch'd  ;  but  I  began 
lo   hrid  the  musky-circled  mazes,  wind 
And  double  in  and  out  the  boles,  and  race 
By  all  the  fountains  :  fleet  I  was  of  foot : 
Before  me  shower'd  the  rose  in  flakes;  be- 
hind 
I  heard  the  pufTd  pursuer  ;  at  mine  ear 
Bubbled  the  nightingale  and  heeded  not. 
And  secret  laughter  tickled  all  my  soul. 
At  last  I  hook'd  my  ankle  in  a  vine, 
That  claspt  the  feet  of  a  Mnemosyne, 
And  falling  on   my  'ice  was  caught   and 
known. 


Oitn, 


;^.  first 


They  haled  us  to  the  Princess  where  she 
sat 
High  in  the  hall  :  above  her  droop'd  a  lamp. 
And  made  the  single  jewel  on  her  brow 
IJurn  like  the  mystic  fire  on  a  mast-head, 
t  rophet  of  storm  :  a  handmaid  on  each  si<Ie 
iiow  d   toward   her,  combing  out   her    long 
black  hair  '* 

Damp  from  the  river  ;  .-.nd  close  beliiiid  her 

StOO;1      . 

Eight  daughters  of  the  plough,  stronger  than 

m'r. 
Huge  w.>.   :ii  biowzed  with  health,  and  wind, 

anu  ram,  ' 


% 


It,  denied  it  not 
r  her  mother  Icnew, 
1  not,  or  denied  : 
il  raind,  familiar  with 

[li.lt.     Slie  sent 

was  not  there;  ahe 

ast  it  from  the  doors  ; 

0  accuse  her  face  to 

lither  will  you  now? 
Cyril  ?  both  are  fled  ; 
t  were  not  so  vvoll. 
ivcr  come  !  I  dread 
hances  of  the  dark." 

you  wrong  him  more 

proper  to  the  clown, 
ind  purpled,  still  the 

trusts  him,  and  to 

e  loves  :   for  Cyril, 

ight  —  the  son|? 
nd  sinn'd  in  grosser 

it  is,  I  hold 
ace  ara  not  he. 
■nperanient : 
ts  and  slides 
jfTs  of  wind, 
om,  suvh  is  he." 

len  from  a  tamarisk 

ipon     us,    crying, 

tch'd  ;  but  I  began 
d  niC7.es,  wind 
:  boles,  and  race 
I  was  of  foot : 
ose  in  flakes;  be- 

;  at  mine  ear 
nd  heeded  not, 

1  all  my  soul, 
in  a  vine, 
Inemosyne, 

was  caught   and 


rincess  where  she 

!r  droop'd  a  lamp, 
on  her  brow 
I  a  mast-head, 
naid  on  each  side 
!g  out   her    long 

close  bcliiiid  her 

gh,  stronger  than 

health,  and  wind, 


i 


And  labor.  Each  was  like  a  Druid  rock  ■ 
Or  hke  a  tpire  of  land  that  stands  .-.part  ' 
Cleft  fronj  the  mam,  and  wail'd  about  with 

Then,  as  we  came,  the  crowd  dividing  r  love 

Half-naked,  as  it  caught  at  once  from  bed 
And  tumbled  on  the  purple  fouUloi'i,  lai- 
Ihe  hly-shiiiing  child  ;  and  oi,  the  leli 
Bow  d  on  her  palms   .u.d  toldcd  up  Irom 
wrong,  ' 

Her  round  white  shoulder  »hak«n  with  her 

sons, 
Melissa  knelt ;  o.u  l.idy  Blanche  erect 
btood  up  and  'I  i.uv  ..•,  affluent  orator. 

•'It  was  not  thus.  O  Princess,  in  old  d.us  : 
You  prized  my  counsel,  lived  upon  m  /  lips 
I  led  you  then  to  all  the  Castalies ;     '     '     " 
I  fed  you  with  the  milk  of  every  Muse  • 
I  loved  you  hke  this  kneeler,  and  y,  u  n.e 
Your  second  mother:   those  v.or^  gracious 

'^'""  chTny°-    "''*  ^''"'^^  y°"  '^'=2'''"  'o 
I  saw  it  and  grieved  -  to  slacken  and  to  cool  • 
Til   taken  with  her  seeming  openness 
you  turned  vour  w.ymer  currents  all  to  her 

Yet7  hJlr.",     •'  '■  '^''r''^'  "'y  '"«'»  for  all ' 
Yet  I  bore  up  in  part  from  ancient  .  )ve 
And  part  y  that  I  hoped  to  win  you  back 
And  part  y  conscious  of  my  own  desem 
And  partly  that  you  were  my  civil  head 
And  duerty  you  were   bon(  for  something 
great,  o 

In  which  I  niight  your  fellow-worker  be 

scheme""''''"'"''  ""^  "'"''*  "oble 

In  us  true  growth,  in  her  a  Jonah's  eourd 
Up  in  one  mght  and  due  toiudden  fun  •  ' 
V^ou  stond^"  "''""  •  ^"^  '"'»  from  the  first 
m°ne      ^"""^  °^''  "^'"  """^  ''^rken'd 
What  student  came  but  that  you  planed  her 
To  Lady  Psyche,  younger,  not  so  wise 
^.     r'^u  f-'"^  '  vpur^ountry woman; 

i'ut^;iffi^:;^-f,--^i,5{^;!naii> 

lean-  >•    wen  a  and  mine  were 

Theii  cam."?h  "  ''°P^''"=  ^'""'^  ^e  known  ; 
;Cenfced"'°''=='='*<^''"-^''"^ 
Long-closeted  with  her  the  yester-mom 

A  hdless  watcher  of  the  public  weal 
Lastng..  their  mask  Z.  patm^'and  my 

To'me°et^a";old'.w''°",«''',''8*'"  =  ^  ^^"''^ 
hear  of  i?     ^^  '"^^nk  you,  we  shall 

Ihfilt'^^  K^y'^^"  '  •■  y°"  had  gone  to  her 
She  told,  perforce;  and  winning^asygrace, 


A  AfEDLBV. 


No  doubt,  for  slight  delay,  remain'd  nmong 

In  our  young  nursery  still  unknown  the  strm 
Less  gram  tf,a„  touc^.wood.  whiir^y  ho,l:^ 

Were  ,il|  miscounted  as  malignant  haste 
But' ute  "-»'  o"'  of  plac'i  aiKl  power. 

known""    '"'^"""^    *'"=    sliould    be 

fh^ph4r'i^i;^!!'&^[,-Sr=• 

I  spoke^not  then  at  first,  but'waTch^d^hem 

l^^^tS'it^joj^i^^i't;^-;- 

theywe^e'"  "'""""='  '^''^°"'''  *hat 
vTthU'^IV^^  coarseness  of  their  kind, 

work)  '    '""^  *"'"*"  '''  '«^'  ('"y 

f '^ini'"*^  cowardice  and  guilty  shame. 

t",t},  K  "'^'?  °"  *•"""  '^  *«ak  your  race 
I  that  have  wasted  here  health,  wialth,  and 

'^"^  'boa"i;  ^~^°"  '"""'  ''-^   ^"1  "0' 

Kor  every  ^,?t  7ruT"'"'%'  ^"' ^^-^  ^'^^^ 
We  dirt  n  Jb         c'lance,  and  men  will  say 

l^.evisn,h"f '«■"!"  '"'  ';S^''  ''"'  'Phased 
tread!"  "'  ^^'"^  "°  '■""'  «" 

^'"'^  "Good-  ""*  ^"""'^  answer'd  coldly 

Fni'^^"•*'^  '*  !'''°'''"  =  we  dismiss  you  ■  j-o 
Our  ^'inrt°'-  '"^^'^  (^'"^  P°'"'«d  lo^he  cS°ld) 
Our  rnind  ,s  changed:   we  take  it  to  our- 


A^h?^^}^^  Lady  stretch-da  vulture  throat. 
And  shn   from  crooked  lips  a  hagtjard  smile 

i^e  saiS"'  """*•  ^  ''"'"  '''^  "^^t'  ' 
"^"toupdrlg'''"^'""-  Ri^'-^d-'toop-d 
Melissa  :  she.  half  on  her  mother  pro,n. 

cas°''"^      "" ''"'  '""'■''  *""  'ace,  and 

A  liquid  look  on  Ida.  full  of  prayer. 

rN?oh'"^"5''  "^  ""''"'^  '■^'"^y  ««^he  hung, 
A  Niobean  daugiuer.  one  arm  out.  ^ 

Appealing  to  the  holu  nf  He- -- -  !     i  -i 

A^l^^T  'r"  '^^^  "me  a  H'tiie'sti;"^'  "'"'= 
-ftbout  the  doors,  and  on  a  sudden  rushM 
Among  us.  out  of  breath,  as  one  pu  sued 
^, ":°'"?".Post  in  flying  raiment.     Fear 

wilig'd  '^"'  ""'^  '''*"''^  ''^'  ^='«'  =""» 
H«r  transit  to  the  throne,  whereby  she  fell 


96 


THE  PRINCESS'. 


Fit.       '■ 


■■l\\\ 

SI  1 


Delivenng  seal'd  despatches  which  the  Head 
look  halt-am.ized,  and  in  her  lion's  mood 
lore  open,  silent  we  with  blind  surmise 
Kegardmg  while  she  rejid,  till  over  brow 
And  cheek  and  bosom  brake  the  wrathful 

bloom 
As  of  some  fire  against  a  stormy  cloud, 
When  the  wild  peasant  rights  himself,  the 

rick 
Flames,  and  his  anger  reddens  in  the  heav- 
ens ; 

For  anger  most  it  seem'd,  while  row  her 

breast, 
Beaten  with  some  great  passion  at  her  heart. 
Palpitated   her  hand  shook,  and  we  heard 
Jn  the  dead  hush  the  papers  that  she  held 
Kustle  :  at  once  the  lost  lamb  at  her  feet 
hent  out  a  bitter  bleating  for  its  dam  ; 
Ihe   plaintive  cry  jarrd   on   her  ire ;    she 

crush  d 

The  scrolls  together,  made  a  sudden  turn 

ci'      i°  'fPP,'''  '^"''  ""erance  failing  her, 

^  R„^'^"r  ^  ^I'T  °V°  ™^>  ^s  «■''"  should  say 
Read,"  and  1  read  -  two  letters  -  one  her 


"  Fair  daughter,  when  we  sent  tlie  Prince 
your  way 

We  knew  not  your  ungracious  laws,  which 

learnt, 
We,  conscious  of  what  temper  you  are  built, 
Lame  all  in  haste  to  hinder  wrong,  but  fell 
Into  his  father's  hands,  who  has  this  night, 
You  lying  close  upon  his  territory, 
Shpt  round  and  in  the  dark  invested  you. 
And  here  he  keeps  me  hostage  for  his  son." 

<4  J''*, second  was  my  father's,  running  thus : 
you  have  our  son  :  touch  not  a  hair  of  his 
head : 
Render  him  up  unscatJid :   give  him  your 

hand : 
Cleave  to  your  contract :  tho*  indeed  we  hear 
You  hold  the  woman  is  the  better  man  ; 
A  rampant  heresy,  such  as  if  it  spread 
Would  make  all  women  kick  against  their 

lords 
Thro'  all  the  world,  and  which  might  well 

deserve 
That  we  this  night  should  pluck  your  palace 

down ; 
And  we  will  do  it,  unless  yon  send  us  back 
Uur  son,  on  the  instant,  whole." 
A   J   I  J  So  far  I  read ; 

Ana  then  stood  up  and  spoke  impetuously. 

r> '!?  ?*?*  *°  Rry  '^"^  P"""  °"  your  reserve, 
ir-u      U-,  ''  Po'flen  wishes,  and  a  hope 
itie  child  of  regal  compact,  did  I  break 
Your  precinct ;  not  a  scorner  of  your  sex 
But  venerator,  zealous  it  should  ba 
All  that  It  might  be  ;  hear  me,  for  I  bear, 
Iho  man,  yethuman.whatsoe'eryourwrones. 

^ess  mine  than  yours :  my  nurse  would  tell 

me  of  you  ; 
I  Fabbled  for  yru,  »«  babies  for  the  moon. 
Vague  brigh'.ness  ;  when  a  boy,  you  stoop'd 


From  all  high  places,  lived  in  all  fair  lights 
Came  in  long  breezes  rapt  from  inmost  south 
And  blown  to  inmost  north  ;  at  eve  and  dawn 
With  Ida,  Ida,  Ida,  rang  the  woods  ; 
1  he  eader  wildswan  in  among  the  stars 
Would  c.ang  it  and  lapt  in  wreaths  of  glow- 
worm light  ° 
The  mellow  breaker  murmur'd  Ida.     Now 
"tfeei^"''^  ''ave  reach'd  you.  had  you 

PersYnltZ''' hS='''°"^'''  °'  '^^  -enthroned 
Persephone  in  Hades,  now  at  length, 
1  hose  winteis  of  abeyance  all  worn  out, 
A  man  1  canie  to  see  you  :  but,  indeed, 
•Not  in  this  frequence  can  I  lend  full  tongue. 

0  noble  Ida,  to  those  thoughts  that  waif 
Un  you,  their  centre  :  let  me  say  but  this, 

1  hat  many  a  famous  man  and  woman,  town 
And  landskip,  have  I  heard  of,  after  seen 
Ihe  dwarfs  of  prestige;  tho'  when  known, 

there  grew 
Another  kind  of  beauty  in  detail 
Made  them  worth  knowing ;  but  in  you  I 

found 
My  boyish  dream  involved  and  dazzled  down 
And  master  d,  while  that  after-beauty  makes 
buch  head  from  act  to  act,  from  hour  to  hour. 
Within  me,  that  except  you  slay  me  here, 
According  to  your  bitter  statute  book, 
1  cannot  cease  to  follow  you,  as  they  say 
I  he  seal  does  music  ;  who  desire  you  more 
Ihan  growing  boys  their  manhood;  dying 

With  many  thousand  matters  left  to  do, 
Ihe  breath  of  life;  O  more  than  poor  men 

wealth,  '^ 

Than  sick  men  health, —yours,  yours,  not 
,„.  ,    mine, —but  half 
Without  you,  with  you,  whole;  and  of  those 

halves 
You  worthiest ;  ^nd  howe'er  you  block  and 

bar 
Your  heart  with  system  out  'Vom  mine,  I  hold 
inat  It  becomes  no  man  to  nurse  despair. 
But  in  the  teeth  of  clench'd  antagonisms 
lo  follow  up  the  worthiest  till  he  die  : 
Yet  that  I  came  not  all  unauthorized 
Behold  your  father's  letter." 

V      !■       T  .  O"  orie  knee 

Kneeling,  I  gave  it,  which  she  caught,  and 

dash  d 
Unopen'd  at  her  feet :  a  tide  of  fierce 
Invective  seem'd  to  wait  behind  her  lips. 
As  waits  a  river  level  with  the  dam 
Ready  to  burst  and  flood  the  worldwilh  foam- 
And  so  she  would  have  spoken,  but  there  rose 
A  hubbub  in  the  court  of  half  the  maids 
Oather'd  together  :  from  the  illumined  hall 
Ivong  lanes  of  splendor  slanted  o'er  a  press 
Of  snowy  shoulders,  thick  as  herded  ewes. 
And  rainbow  robes,  and  gems  and  gem-like 

.    .    ^yss- 

nna  gotu  and  golden  heads  ;  they  to  and  fro 
fluctuated,  as  flowers  in  storm,  some  red, 

some  pale, 
All  open-mouth'd,  all  gazing  to  the  light, 
borne  crying  there  wa-.  an  army  in  the  land, 
And  some  that  men  were  in  the  very  walla, 


lived  in  all  fair  lights, 
rapt  from  inmost  south 
'lorth;  at  eve  and  dawn 
ang  the  woods  ; 
in  among  the  stars 
ipt  in  wreaths  of  glow- 

lurmur'd  Ida.    Now, 
reach'd  you,  had  you 

opeia,  or  the  enthroned 
now  at  length, 
ance  all  worn  out, 
ou  :  but,  indeed, 
an  I  lend  full  tongue, 
houghts  that  wait 
Jet  me  say  but  this, 
lan  and  woman,  town 
heard  of,  after  seen 
e  ;  tho'  when  known, 

y  in  detail 

jwing ;  but  in  you  I 

ved  and  dazzled  down 
at  after-beauty  makes 
let,  from  hour  to  hour, 

you  slay  me  here, 
r  statute- book, 

you,  as  they  say 
vho  desire  you  more 
eir  manhood ;  dying 

alters  left  to  do, 
more  than  poor  men 

—  yours,  yours,  not 

whole ;  and  of  those 

re'er  you  block  and 

lut  'Vom  mine,  I  hold 
to  nurse  despair, 
h'd  antagonisms 
:st  till  he  die: 
mauthorized 
er." 

On  one  knee 
ch  she  caught,  and 

tide  of  fierce 
behind  her  lips, 

ih  the  dam 

the  worldwith  foam; 

loken,  but  there  rose 
half  the  maids 
the  illumined  liall 

lanted  o'er  a  press 

k  as  herded  ewes, 

!ems  and  gem-like 

ds  ;  they  to  and  fro 
1  storm,  some  red, 

ing  to  the  light, 
army  in  the  land, 
in  the  very  walls, 


And  some  they  cared  not ;  till  a  clamor  grew 
As  of  a  new-world  Babel,  woman-built, 

Th«  7/^.«<=°"'^«,""''.'?-  '"8''  ^bo^<=  them  stood 
The  placid  marble  Muses,  looking  peace 


A  MEDLEY. 


97 


Not  peace  she  look'd,  the  Head  :  but  ris- 
ing up  '" 

Tn'jh^  i"."'^ '?"?  "'S'^'  °^  ''"  'Jeep  hair,  so 
fPv*  il  P  ?  widow  moved,  remaining  there 
F  xt  like  a  beacon-tower  above  the  waves 
Ut  tempest,  when  the  crimson-rollinKeve 
Glares  rum,  and  the  wild  birds  on  the  light 
Dash  themselves  dead.     She  stretch'l  her 

arms  and  call'd 
Across  the  tumult  and  the  tumult  fell. 

"^^Headf  ^^  brawlers.'  am  not  I  your 

On  me,  me,   me,  the  storm  first  breaks  •  / 
dare 

All  these  male  thunderbolts  :  what  is  it  ve 

fear.'  •' 

Peace!  there  are  those  to  avenge  us  and 

they  come: 
If  not,  -  myself  were  like  enough,  O  girls 
]o  unfurl.the  maiden  banner  of  our  rfghts 
And  c  ad  in  iron  burst  the  ranks  of  warf     ' 
Or  falling  protomartyr  of  our  cause, 
c;-     V^*   ^  ^'^""^  y^  "°'  so  much  for  fear; 
Six  thousand  years  of  fear  have  made  ye  tliat 

""'those        '^""''^  ^^^^^"^  ye  :   but  for 

'^''*'  know'''"  hubbub -you  and  you -I 

Yourfaces^there  in  the  crowd  -  to-morrow 

TifaMnv  Af  ^"^  C9nvention  :  then  shall  they 
ij  at  love  tlieir  voices  more  than  duty,  leam 
With  whom  they  deal,  dismissed  in  shamed 

No  wiser  than  their  mothers,  household  stuff 

F  ,n  n^"^l''  "  """  °f  ^^^^  other's  fame' 
I  .11  of  weak  poison,  turnspits  for  the  clown 

'Time"^''  ^^"''^-".''"ghiVstocksof 
Whose^bra^;,s  are  in  their  hands  and  in  their 
But  fit  to  flaunt,  to  dress,  to  dance  to  thmm 
lo  tramp  to  scream,  to  burni^and  ?o  scoTr' 
t  orever  slaves  at  home  and  fools  abroad."   ' 


^°  'toth'"-    '"'""'^^   vengeance  on  you 
Yet  sijj«  our  father- Wasps  in  our  good 

You  would-be  quenchers  of  the  light  to  be 
Barbarians  grosser  than  your  native  be.rs'- 

Ynn^hl"^  /  ''"^'^'^  ^"^^P'^^  '""^  one  hour 
You  tha^  ha^ve  dared  to  break  our  bound;  and 

Our  serva_nts,  wrong'd  and  lied  and  thwarted 

\Zlfw^t  *^"  '/  ^?","^  ^^  precontract 

dd'  l^ondslave  !  not  tho'  all  the 

'^"""f  u'rcJ'owr''*  """"  ^'"'■'^  '°  "'"•'" 
And  every  spokeli  tongue  should  lord  you. 

Yofir  falsehood  and  yourself  are  hateful  to  uv 
I  trample  on  your  offers  and  on  you'  " 

Begone  :  we  will  not  look  upon  you  more 
Here,  push  them  out  at  gates." 

Ti,on  .1,  -1        .  .  '"  ^"'1'  she  spake 

pioulh"^      ""^'''^'  '^»"S'"e«  of  the 

°'"'  dres's-d"'""''  '"'""  '°""^  ""  ^"'J  »d. 
^''''^"031°"'  '"''"'  ^  '°"Sht  to  plead  my 
But  on  my  shoulder  hung  their  heavy  hands. 
Ihe  weight  of  destiny :  so  from  her/ace    ^ 

'  fhe  cour"tf'  '•°''"  '^'  ^''P^'  ^"'J  "^^°" 
And  with  grim  laughter  thrust  us  out  at  gates. 


''Ve"S:d"='^^'^  '^^'-  ''-''-   thereat 
Muttering  dissolved  :  then  with  a  smile,  that 

When  ^lllhJ""','""''''"^  °"  ">«  '^liff. 

gloom     ^'*"'  ""  '^^°^"''i  '"  =»^"re 
Of  thunder-shower,  she  floated  to  us  and  said: 

Ihen  men  had  said-but  now- What  hin- 


"^^  mound'  "^''^''"'«"'»g-»'d  a  petty 

^'^""heid"''''""  ^^  '^^  ""=  ^'■g'^'s  and 
The  vok^es  murmuring.    While  I  listen'd, 

?s"eemMt"  "'"  """^''^  '"""«  '"^  'he  doubt  : 
Th^   p  ^  *°  "''"'?  ,=»"'°ng  a  world  of  ghosts  • 
giarr  ''"■  '"°"strous^woman. 

The  jest  and  earnest  working  side  bv  side 
1  he  ca  aract  and  the  tumult  and^hek^; 
W  th  a  nf  "r-"-  ^"f  ''•«  '°"S  ftntas'-c  nTht 
And  ,n  H  •  ^°'"^'  ''^^  and  had  not  been, 
And  all  things  were  and  were  not. 

As  sti^ngely  as  it  came,  and  on  mi'sS*" 
No  ll^  ^T'  "  '',"4d  of  melanchoVT 
A,?i  fv  ^  ^''°°''  'f  off;  for  spite  of  doubts 
And  sudden  ghostly  shadowings  I  was  o  e  ' 
1  o  whom  thetouch  of  all  mischance  biu  came 
I  ^es'fhe  ^%^""  "'=*'  ^'".'"S  on  a  ^^^^"^'^ 
bees  the  midsummer,  midnight,  Norway  sun 
Set  into  sunrise  :  then  we  moved  a wTy^ 

Thy  voice  is  heard  thro'  rolling  drums 
1  hat  beat  to  b.iltle  where  he^stands  ; 
I  hy  face  across  his  fancy  conies, 

And  gives  the  battle  to  his  hands  • 

A  moment  while  the  trumpets  blow; 

He  sees  h,s  brood  about  thy  knw  ■ 

Ihc  next,  like  fire  he  meets  the  foe  ' 

And  strikes  him  dead  for  thine  and  thee 


9« 


T//S  PRINCESS  : 


So  LiHasang  :  we  thought  her  half-possess'd, 
She  struck  such  warbling  fury  thro'  the  words; 
And,  after,  feigning  pique  at  what  she  call'd 
Ihe  raillery,  or  grotesque,  or  false  sublime- 
Like  one  that  wishes  at  a  dance  to  change 
1  he  music  —  clapt  her  hands  and  cried  for 

war, 
Or  some  grand  fight  to  kill  and  make  an  end  : 
And  he  that  next  inherited  the  tale 
Ha|f  turning  to  the  broken  statue  said, 
'Sir  Ralph  has  got  your  colors :  if  I  prove 
Your  knight,  and  fight  your  battle,  what  for 

me  ? " 
It  chanced,  her  empty  glove  upon  the  tomb 
Lay  by  her  like  a  model  of  her  hand 
She  took  it  and  she  flung  it.     "  Fight,"  she 

said, 
"  And  make  us  all  we  would  be,  great  and 

good." 
He  knightlike  in  his  cap  instead  of  casque, 
A  cap  of  Tyrol  borrow'd  from  the  hall, 
Arranged  the  favor,  and  assumed  the  Prince 


Now,  scarce  three  paces  measured  from  the 

mound. 
We  stumbled  on  a  stationary  voice, 
And     Stand,  who  goes  ?  "    "  Two  from  the 

palace,"  I. 
"The  second  two:  they  wait,"  he   said. 

pass  on ; 
His  Highness  wakes"  :  and  one,  that  clash 'd 

m  arms. 
By  glimmering  lanes  and  walls  of  canvas,  led 
1  hreading  the  soldier-city,  till  we  heard 
The  drowsy  folds  of  our  great  ensign  shake 
From  blazon'd  lions  o'er  the  imperial  tent 
Whispers  of  war. 

_,       ,  Entering,  the  sudden  light 

Uazed  me  half-blind  :  I  stood  and  seem'd  to 

hear. 
As  in  a  poplar  grove  when  a  light  wind  wakes 
A  lisping  of  the  innunierous  leaf  and  dies, 
*.ach  hissing  in  his  neighbor's  ear  ;  and  then 
A  strangled  titter,  out  of  which  there  brake 
On  all  sides,  clamoring  etiquette  to  death. 
Unmeasured  mirth  ;  while  now  the  two  old 

kings 
Began  to  wag  their  baldness  up  and  down, 
Ihe  fresh  young  captains  flash'd  their  glit- 

termg  teeth, 
The  huge  bush-bearded  Barons  heaved  and 

blew. 
And  slain   with   laughter  roll'd  the  gilded 
Squire. 
At  length  my  Sire,  his  rough  cheek  wet 
with  tears, 
Panted  from  weary  sides,  "  King,  you  are  free! 
We  did  but  keep  you  surety  for  our  son, 
If  this  be  he,  —  or  a  draggled  mawkin,  thou, 
inat   tend?;   ncr    bnstlca   grunters    in    the 

sludge  " : 
For  I  was  drench'd  with  ooze,  and  torn  with 

briers, 
More  crumpled  than  a  poppy  from  the  sheath. 
And  all  one  rag,  Hisprinced  from  he-id  to  heel. 


Then  some  one  sent  beneath  his  vaulted  palm 
A  whisper-d  jest   to   some  one   near  him 

Look, 
He  has  been  among  his  shadows."    "  Satati 

take 
The  old  women  and  their  shadows  1  (thus 

the  King 
Roar'd)  make  yourself  a  man  to  fight  with 

men. 
Go  :  Cyril  told  us  all." 

^, f     1        J   .  -As  boys  that  slink 

From  ferule  and  the  trespass-chiding  eye, 
Away  we  stole,  and  transient  in  a  trice 
l|rom  what  was  left  of  faded  woman-sloueh 
lo  sheathing  splendors  and  the  golden  stale 
Ot  harness,  issued  in  the  sun,  that  now 
Leapt  from  the  dewy  shoulders  of  the  Earth. 
Aiid  hit  the  northern  hills.    Here  dyril  met  us 
A  little  shy  at  first,  but  by  and  by 
We  twain,  with  mutual  pardon  ask'd  and 

given 
For  stroke  and  song,  resolder'd  peace,  where- 
on 
Follow'd  his  tale.    Amazed  he  fled  away 
1  hro  the  dark  land,  and  later  in  the  night 
Had  come  on  Psyche  weeping :  "  then  we  fell 
Into  your  father's  hand,  and  there  she  lies. 
But  will  not  speak,  nor  stir." 

.    .        '.        _  He  show'd  a  tent 

A  stone-shot  off:  we  enter'd  in,  and  there 
Among  piled  arms  and  rough  accoutrements, 
Pitiful  sight,  wrapt  in  a  soldier's  cloak, 
Like  some  sweet  sculpture  draped  from  head 

to  foot. 
And  push'd  by  rude  hands  from  its  pedestal, 
All  her  fair  length  upon  the  ground  she  lay  : 
And  at  her  head  a  follower  of  the  camp, 
A  charr'd  and  wrinkled  piece  of  womanhood, 
bat  watching  like  a  watcher  by  the  dead. 

Then   Florian- knelt,    and    "Come,"   he 

whisper'd  to  her, 
"Lift  lip  your  head,  sweet  .sister :  lie  not  thus. 
What  have  you  done  but  right?  you  could 

not  slay 
Me,  nor  your  prince  :  look  up :  be  comforted  : 
Sweet  IS  it  to  have  done  the  thing  one  ought. 
When  fall'n  in  darker  ways."  And  likewise  I  • 
"  Be  comforted  :  have  I  not  lost  her  too. 
In  whose  least  act  abides  the  nameless  charm 
That  none  has  else  for  me  ? "    She  hsard, 

she  moved. 
She  moan'd,  a  folded  voice ;  and  up  she  sat. 
And  raised  the  cloak  from  brows  as  pale  and 

smooth 
As   those   that   mourn   half-shrouded  over 

death 
In  deathless  marble.     "  Her,"  she  said,  "  my 

friend  — 
Parted  from  her— betray'd  her  cause  and 

mine  — 
Where  shall  I  breathe  ?  whv  keot  ve  not  vmir 

faith  ? 

0  base  and  bad  I  what  comfort  ?  none  for 

me  I  " 
To  whom  remorsefiil  Cyril,  "  Yet  I  pray 

1  ake  comfort :  live,  dear  lady,  for  your  child  I " 
At  which  «lie  lifted  up  her  voice  and  cried. 


She 


Oking,' 
The  des( 
The  smc 

Tom    fri 

A  "'^ 

A  smoke 

Three  ii 
sec 
At  him  t 
/.  ^a( 
(And  evei 


eath  his  vaulted  palm 
iome  one   near  him 

shadows."    "Satan 

^eir  shadows !  (thus 

a  man  to  fight  with 

As  bo^'s  that  slink 
spass-chiding  eye, 
isient  in  a  trice 
dad  woman -slough 
»nd  the  golden  scale 
'.  sun,  that  now 
oulders  of  the  Earth, 
!.    Here  Cyril  met  us, 
>y  and  by 
1  pardon  ask'd  and 

)lder'd  peace,  where- 

zed  he  fled  away 
later  in  the  night 
sping:  "then  we  fell 
and  there  she  lies, 
tir." 

He  show'd  a  tent 
er'd  in,  and  there 
)ugh  accoutrements, 
oldier's  cloak, 
re  draped  from  head 

Is  from  its  pedestal, 
he  ground  she  lay  : 
sr  of  the  camp, 
iece  of  womanhood, 
ler  by  the  dead. 

and   "Come,"   he 

t  .sister:  lie  not  thus. 
It  right?  you  could 

t  up ;  be  comforted  : 
he  thing  one  ought, 
i."  And  likewise  I : 
ot  lost  her  too, 
the  nameless  charm 
ne?"    She  hsard, 

e ;  and  up  she  sat, 
1  brows  as  pale  and 

lalf-shrouded  over 

ter,"  she  said,  "my 

/'d  her  cause  and 

liy  kept  ye  not  ynur 

comfort?  none  for 

,  "  Yet  I  prajr 
iy,  for  your  child  I" 
voice  and  cried. 


"Ah^jw,,  my  babe,  my  blossom,  ah  my 

.*''°morer"='"''"''°'«f^''-"«eno 
For  now  will  cruel  Ida  keep  her  back  • 
And  euher  she  will  die  from  want  of  c^re 

Th.'V'h-u  ^f  '"  '''?^^'  when  they  say  ' 
Tit  r^u  -^  ^"  -fo"-  every  little  fault, 
Ihe  child  IS  hers ;  and  they  will  h^t  m„    •  i 
Remembering  her  mother?  O  my  flowerT'' 
Or  they  will  take  her,  they  willmake  W  h,  a 
Wi  htmJ"  P,T  ""'  by^n  aKfe'"'*^'' 
she  dead    '""'''"''  ^"'"^  "^^^  *"« 
111  mother  that  I  was  to  leave  her  there 
lo  lag  behind,  scared  by  the  cry  they  made 

And  mlif  ^M  '"  ^?^'^^  "'e  doors. 
Unfit;  haT'','he'a;°.j:;;^^  '"''■  ¥' 

/ina  lay  my  Iittit  ,,  jssom  at  mv  feet 

&  I  wiil  tKr  ^S'-'-i^yon:  child  : 
«ua  1  will  take  her  up  and  go  mv  wav 
And  satis.y  mj- soul  with  kissing  he^^'^' 

Like  tender  things  that  being  caught  feign 
Spoke  not,  rior  stirr'd. 

Thro'  all  *!,-  ^y  'his  a  murmur  ran 

scouls     """P  '"'^  '"^^'■'J  ""d  ^e 

We  ieft^Kv  fh"""  "^^^^  ^^"^  ■■"  hand. 
""SS-^"----ook 

a^^i^fffi^K-Syou 
She  wi-ongs  herself,  her  sex,  and  me,  and 

Sh^  SS  ^ai:.,^"  ■■°'^'  °^'»«'  -d  fire  ; 
"  We  fear  i„ri»-^  ^^^^  ^'^"^^  *""i'd  to  me 

You  love  her.     Give  ns    tU^^ 

large  "  ^    "^"'  y""''  "I'nd  at 

How  say  you,  war  or  not?" 
O  king,"  I  said   "  i»«  !-'^°' war,  if  possible, 

Tom    from    the    lintel -all    the    con--.- 
wrong commuii 

Thr«  "^iif  r  P  *''™'  ^'"■'^h  I  loom  to  her 
nree^^im^es  a  monster:   now  she  lightens 

At  him^that  mars  her  plan,  but  then  would 
(And  every  voice  she  talk'd  with  ratify  it, 


A   MEDLEY. 


And  every  face  she  look'd  on  justify  it^ 

My  fa*„,  ..T„t  yo.  kiS  .a"!!;,?;];: 

He  reddens  what  he  kisses  •  tl,i,=  r 

Were^?sdom?oh''!'^«°^^"'»"=--> 
"Wi.c^aturesneed':SS.^^:iS 

^&^^r\  Se'idt;  ^''r'"'"j^  p"- 

The  yester-niehtanri  «»''•'"'''?"  ^he  rose 
Stood  for  heria use  andT'"^^]:  "'^'""«^'' 
Gagelike  to  man   anri  1.?"^  At^^n^^  down 
death,        '     ^  ''*^  "°'  ^hunn'd  the 
No,  not  the 'soldier's :  yet  I  hoM  h.,  t- 

The  t,i  ken  priest  of  n^Vr/     -"f,  ?oidicr,  ona 
And  some  imworthilv  ■  th'»?"''-  ',*"'■  ?"''  *hat, 


99 


100 


THE  PRINCESS: 


w 

\ 

1     ' 

f 

Twice  36  magnetic  to  sweet  influences 

Of  earth  and  heaven  ?  and  she  of  whom  you 

speak, 
My  mother,  looks  as  whok  as  some  serene 
Creation  mmted  in  the  golden  moods 
Of  sovereign  artists  ;  not  a  thought,  a  touch, 
iiut  pure  as  lines  of  green  that  streak  the 

whit« 
Of  the  first  snowdrop's  inner  leaves ;  I  say. 
Not  like  the  piebald  miscellany,  man. 
Bursts  of  great  heart  and  slips  in  sensual 

mire, 
But  whole  and  one :  and  take  them  all-in-all. 
Were  we  ourselves  but  half  as  good,  as  kind. 
As  truthful,  much  that  Ida  claims  as  right 
A  J  "^  er  been  mooted,  but  as  frankly  theirs 
As  dues  of  Nature.  To  our  point :  not  war : 
Lest  I  lose  all." 

c  'J  r-       "  ^.%,"^y'  y"  ^P^''^  l^"'  sense," 
aaid  (jama.        We  femember  love  ourselves 
In  our  sweet  youth  ;  we  did  not  rate  him  then 
Ihis  red-hot  iron  to  be  shaped  with  blows 
You  talk  almost  like  Ida  :  slie  can  talk ; 
And  there  is  something  in  it  as  you  say  • 
But  you  talk  kindlier :  we  esteem  you  for 'it  — 
He  seems  a  gracious  and  a  gallant  Prince! 
I  would  he  had  our  daughter :  for  the  rest 
Our  own  detention,  why  the  causes  weigh'-d 
Fatherly  fears -you  used  us  courteously  — 
We  would  do  much  to  gr.itify  your  Prince  - 
We  pardon  It :  and  for  your  ingress  here 
Upon  the  skirt  and  fringe  of  our  fair  land. 
You  did  but  come  as  goblins  in  the  night, 
Wor  in  the  furrow  broke  the  ploughman's 
head. 

Nor  burnt  the  grange,  norbuss'd  themilking- 

maid, 
Nor  robb'd  the  farmer  of  his  bowl  of  cream  : 
But  let  your  Prince  (our  royal  word  upon  it, 
He  comes  back  safe)  ride  wiih  us  to  our  lines. 
And  speak  with  Arac  :  Arac's  word  is  thrice 
As  ours  with  Ida  :  something  mav  be  done  — 
I  know  not  what  — and  ours  shall   see   us 

friends. 
You,  likewise,  our  late  guests,  if  so  you  will, 
l-ollow  us:  who  knows?  we  four  may  build 

some  plan 
Foursquare  to  opposition." 

XX71  •.     u     J      ,■  r         „     ^^""^  ^^  reach'd 
While  hands  of  farewell  to  my  sire,  who 

■  growl'd 
An  answer  which,  half- muffled  in  his  beard, 
l^et  so  much  out  as  gave  us  leave  to  go. 


On  our  mail'd  heads :  but  other  thoughts  than 

Jr63CC 

Burnt  in   us,  when  we  .saw  the  embattled 

squares. 
And  squadrons  of  the  Prince,  trampling  the 

With  clamor  :  for  among  them  rose  a  cry 
As  If  to  greet  the  king :  they  made  a  halt : 
The  horses  yell'd  ;  they  clash'd  their  arms  • 
the  drum 

Beat;  merrily-blowing  shrill'd  the  martial 

tite ; 
And  in  the  blast  and  bray  of  the  long  horn 
And  serpent-throated  bugle,  undulated 
llie  banner  :  anon  to  meet  us  lightly  pranced 
ihree  captains  out ;  nor  ever  had  I  seen 
buch  thews  of  men  :  the  midmost  and  the 

highest 
Was  Arac  :  all  about  his  motion  clung 
1  he  shadow  of  his  sister,  as  the  beam 
Of  the  East,  that  play'd  upon  them,  made 

them  glance 
Like  those  three  stars  of  the  airy  Giant's 

zone. 
That  glitter  bumish'd  by  the  frosty  dark  • 
And  as  the  fiery  Sirius  alters  hue. 
And  bickers  into  red  and  emerald,  shone 
Iheir  nionons,  wash'd  with  morning,  as  thev 

came.  ■' 

And   I  t!  It  prated  peace,  when  first  I 

hearc' 
War-music  felt  the  blind  wildbeast  of  force, 
VV  hose  Iio'iie  is  in  the  sinews  of  a  man. 
Stir  in  me  as  to  strike  :  then  took  the  king 
His  threj  broad  sons;  with  now  a  wanderine 

hmd  * 

And  n'w  a  pointed  finger,  told  them  all : 
A  con-  mon  light  of  smiles  at  our  disguise 
Broke  from  their  lips,  and,  ere  the  windv  jest 
Had  iabor  d  down  within  his  ample  lun'es 
1  he  genial  giant,  Arac,  roll'd  himself        ' 
Thrice  in  the  saddle,  then  burst  out  in  wprds. 

"  Our  land  invaded,  'sdeath  !  and  he  him- 
self 
Your  captive,  yet  my  father  wills  not  war  • 
And,  'sdeath  I  myself,  what  care  I,  war  or 


Then  rode  we  with  the  old  king  across  the 

lawns 
Beneath  huge  trees,  a  thousand  rings  of 

Spring 
In  every  bole,  a  song  on  everv  spray 
Of  birds  that  piped  their  Valentines,  and 

woke 
Desire  in  me  to  infuse  my  tale  of  love 
in  the  old  king's  e.trs,  who  promised  help, 

and  oozed 
All  o'er  with  honey'd  answer  as  we  rode ; 
And  blossom-fragrant  slipt  the  heavy  dews 
Oather  d  by  night  and  peace,  with  each  light 


But  then  this  question  of  your  troth  remains : 
And  there 's  a  downright  honest  meaning  in" 

her; 
She  flies  too  high,  she  flies  too  high  I  and  yet 
She  ask'd   but  space  and  fairplay  for  her 

scheme : 
She  prest  andtpreet  it  on  me —  I  myself. 
What  know  I  of  these  things?  but,  life  and 

soul  I 
I  thought  her  half-right  talking  of  her  wrongs  • 
I  say  she  flies  too  Mgh,  'sdeath!  what  of 

that? 
I  take  her  for  the  flower  of  womankind, 
And  so  I  often  told  her,  right  or  wrong. 
And,  Prince,  she  can  be  sweet  to  those  she 

loves, 
And,  right  or  wrong,  I  care  not :  this  is  all, 
1  stand  upon  her  side  :  the  made  me  swear 
It  — 


shrill'd  the  martial 


)f  the  airy  Giant's 


ace,  when  first   I 


5ath  !  and  he  him- 


'^''"'Vt*-^  ^J'^^oJemn  ri.e.  by  candle 
'"'"„a,i;e--  --""iug-l  forget  her 
Her  that  (alk'd  down  the  fifty  wisest  men  ■ 

r  lagg'd  in  answer  loath  to  render  un 
My  Dreconfract,  and  loath  by  brainless  war 
lo  cleave  the  rift  of  difference  deeper  vet 
1  ill  one  of  those  two  brothers,  half  aside 
And  fingermg  at  the  hair  about  his  lip 
To  pnck  us  on  to  combat  "  Like  o  like  ! 
•the   woman's   garment    hiri    tlL  . 

heart "     ^''''''   ""»    the  woman's 


A  medlety. 


toi 
Came  sallying  thro- the  gates,  and  caught  hi. 

When  Morm  .son  the  heigh»risht  and 

Sucl?'d  from  the  dark  heart  of  the  long  hills 

The  torrents,  dash'd  to  the  vale:  and  yet  her 
Bred  will  in  me  to  overcome  it  or  fall. 


''"'no^ntV^  "'''"•  "^""''-«'°  three? 

Of  these  or  those,  the  question  settled  die. 

"Ye^a.'^answer'dr.  "for  this  wild  wreath 

?«  relSe'edT  '1"^  T  '""  f^"^"' 
It  needs  mTs  be'^^r'^n     fen'-'^^^  "'"■ 
Smce  what  decision  ?  if  we  fail     "«'  fail 

to  her!"  '  "**  '*'"  ^^"^ 

S  byThis'he*?^!  ?''°"*  -^''.y  ^^^  *h°"W 
And  yoVstaKe  fensS^tK,,,. 

''^X'n"atS''''''"-'''''-S.butvai„,ier 
Back  rode  we  to  mv  ftt^J;.  ^'^  "'°''«  '°  ^ay : 

'■'"  'Sr''d^"''"^"='^'-''^"'  -neap- 
He  bat^er|d  at  the  doors;   none  came:   the 

^"    'ThenJ""''"   *'■•'"'    ''*'•    *^">'d   him 
''^"  'pligh"'  '''°"'''«'"  daughters  of  the 


|prtti:i^--wi.a^- 

Wi  h°r.';''''"'^'^y  -'•"  ^'''  bearded  lords     * 
W.th  reasons  drawn  fro,„  age  and  "st're,  per- 

Heyidded,   wroth  and  red.  with  fierce  de- 
And  many  a  bold  knight  started  un  in  >,«,» 
And  sware  to  combat  lor  my  dalZ i)?  d'la^ 

I^!^^~''-^^etSe 

A^s.:;;^ij;^-^S-^— be^ 

Sy'r^^    ^^'^^^'    emboss'd"I.^ith 

fc'n^'wIa^tla'^r'i^Sr'''^^^^'^^' 
AHthat,onr.rthri!rwr"h'a^^Sa 

WiKes'ste'^'dH 'r'^"^'''=  '°  '»"''  fr". 
Last.  lS;rr.t„\'ryaSd^"'^  -me ; 

"  O  brother,  you  have  known  the  pangs  we 

Of''tl!o''''lL°/"  '•"'^'S"'"'°"  «'hen  w-e  heard 
feet;         "'""-"^mp'd    their  women's 

GiVe?  w"  7'"''!!  ^'  "^^  «lt"  'he  poor  bride 

^"ves    her    harsh    groom    for   bri'dal-gift  a 

scourge  ;  """oi  j,iit  a 

Of  living  hearts  that  crack  within  the  fire 
Where  ^smoulder  their  dead  despVts  ;  a"d  of 

Mothers,  -'that,  all  prophetic  pity  flinff 
"■■  ^^^o'Ss"^''^  '"  ">'  -"nC'floTdf  and 

'S;tes^^^ra^^-^-     • 

f^'t;^^i!sra^l^ii;ri^"ts, 
feim^^?tK^S£r- 


{«■ 


THE  PRINCESS'. 


I  stored  it  full  of  rich  memorial : 
I  fenced  it  round  with  gallant  institutes, 
And  biting  laws  to  scare  the  beasts  of  prey. 
And  prosper'd  ;  till  a  rout  of  saucy  boys 
iirake  on  us  at  our  books,  and  marr'd  our 

peace, 
Mask'd  like  our  maids,  blustering  I  know 

not  what 
Of  insolence  and  love,  some  pretext  held 
Of  baby  troth,  invalid,  since  my  will 
Seald  not  the  bond— the  striplings  I  — for 

their  sport  !  — 

I  tamed  my  leopards  :  shall  I  not  tame  th"e se  ? 

Or  you  ?  or  I  ?  for  since  you  think  me  touch'd 

in  honor— what,    I  would    not   aught   of 

false  —  6       "» 

Is  not  our  cause  pure?  and  whereas  I  know 
Pr°*^s*'  ■^'•ac,    and    what   mother's 

You  draw  from,  fight;  you  failing,  I  abide 
What  end  soever  :  fail  you  will  not.  Still 
I  ake  not  his  life  :  he  nsk'd  it  for  my 


said :  "  Stubborn,  but  she 


^yhat 

1  ake  ..v..  ...3  ..ic  .  uc  risK  ci  it  lor  my  own 

Fill"?""  j^fi  'l."^^  ■  ,r'  w'l'Tso'er  you  do. 
Fight  and  fight  well ;  strike  and  strike  home. 
O  dear 

^'°"'^'^^u  *''*  *°'"»»'s  Angel  guards  you. 

The  sole  men  to  be  mingled  with  our  cause, 

Vnnr'l^  "'^"  ^^  f  ^!'  P"^^ '"  "^^  after-tim4. 
Your  very  armor  hallow'd,  and  your  statues 
Kear  d,  sung  to,  when  this  gad-fly  brush'd 

aside, 
7'e  plant  a  solid  foot  into  the  Time, 
Aiid  mould  a  generation  strong  to  move 
With  claim  on  claim  from  right  to  right,  till 

she 
Whose  name  is  yoked  with  children's,  know 

herself; 
And  Knowledge  in  our  own  land  make  her 

fi-ee. 
And,    ever   following    those   two    crowned 

twins, 
Commerce  and  conquest,  shower  the  fiery 
grain  •' 

Of  freedom  broadcast  over  all  that  orbs 
Between  the  Northern  and  the    Southern 
mom. 

Then  came  a  postscript  dash'd  across  the 
rest. 
"See  that  there  be  no  traitors  \v  your  camp  • 
We  seem  a  nest  of  traitors  -  none  to  trust : 
Mnce  our  arms  fail'd  —  this  Egypt  plague  of 

men  1 
Almost  our  maids  were  better  at  their  homes, 
1  han  thus  man-girdled  here  :  indeed  I  think 
Uurchiefest  comfort  is  the  little  child 
Ot  one  unworthy  mother;  which  she  left  : 
bhe  shall  not  have  it  back :  the  child  shall 

grow 
To  prize  the  authentic  mother  of  her  mind. 
1  took  It  for  an  hour  in  mine  own  Hed 
ihis    morning:   there   the  tender   orphan 

hands 
Felt  at  my  heart,  and  seem'd  to  charm  from 

thence 
The  wrath  I  nursed  against  the  world :  fare- 

welL" 


I  ceased ;  he 

may  sit 
Upon  a  king's  right  hand  in  thunder-storms, 
And    breed   up    warriors  I     See    now,    tho' 

yourself 
Be  dazzled  by  the  wildfire  Love  to  sloughs 
ihat  swallow  common  sense,  the  spindling 

This  Gama  swamp'd  in  lazy  tolerance. 
When  the  man  wants  weight,  the  woman 

takes  It  up. 
And  topples  down  the  scales  ;  but  this  is  fixt 
As  are  the  roots  of  earth  and  base  of  all  ; 
Man  for  the  field  and  woman  for  the  hearth  ; 
Man  for  the  sword  and  for  the  needle  she  : 
Man  with  the  head  and  woman  with  the 

heart : 
Man  to  command  and  woman  to  obey  ; 
All  else  confusion.      Look  you  !  the   erav 

mare  "    ' 

Is  ill  to  live  with,  when  her  whinny  shrills 
irom  tile  to  scullery,  and  her  small  good- 
man  '" 
Shrinks  in  his  arm-chair  while  the  fires  of 

Hell 
Mix  with  his  hearth  :  but  you  —  she 's  yet  a 

colt  — 
Take,    break   her:   strongly   groom'd    and 

straitly  curb'd 
She  might  not  rank  with  those  detestable 
ihat  let  the  bantling  scald  at  home,  and 

brawl 

Their  rights  or  wrongs  like  potherbs  in  the 

street. 
Thuy  say  she  's  comely ;  there  's  the  fairer 

chance : 
/like  her  none  the  less  for  rating  at  her  I 
Kesides,  the  woman  wed  is  not  as  we 
But  suffers  change  of  frame.     A  lusty  brace 
Of  twins  may  weed  her  of  her  folly.     Boy 
Ihe  bearing  and  the  training  of  a  child 
is  woman's  wisdom." 

T  .    ,         ,  r    Tlius  the  hard  old  King : 

1  took  my  leave,  for  it  was  nearly  noon : 
I  pored  upon  her  letter  which  I  held, 
And  on  the  little  clause  "  take  not  his  life  "  • 
1  mused  on  that  wild  morning  in  the  woods 
And   on  the  "Follow,  follow,   thou   sha k 

win  "  : 
I  thought  on  all  the  wrathful  king  had  said. 
And  how  the  strange  betrothment  was  to 

end  : 

Then   I  remember'd  that  burnt  sorcerer's 

curse 
That  one  should   fight  with  shadows  and 

should  fall ; 
And  like  a  flash  the  weird  affection  came  • 
King,  camp  and  college  turn'd  to  hollow 

fihows ; 
I  seem'd  to  move  in  old  memorial  tHts, 
And  doing  battle  with  forgotten  ghosts; 
io  dream  mysell  the  shadow  oi  a  dream  : 
And  ere  I  woke  it  was  the  point  of  noon, 
Ihe  lists  were  ready.     Empanoplied   and 

We  enter'd  in,  and  waited,  fifty  there 
Opposed  to  fifty,  till  the  trumpet  blared 
At  the  barrier  like  a  wild  horn  in  a  land 


Stubborn,  but  she 


Of  echoes,  and  a  moment,  and  once  more 
The  trumpet,  and  again  :  at  which  the  storm 
Of  galiopmg  hoofs  bare  on  the  ridge  of  spears 
And  riders  front  to  front,  until  they  closed 
In  conflict  with  the  crash  of  shivering  points. 
And  thunder.     Yet  it  seem'd  a  dream  •  I 

dream'd 
Of  fighting.    On  his  haunches  rose  the  steed. 
And  into  fiery  splinters  leapt  the  lance. 
And  out  of  stricken  helmei.i  sprang  the  fire 
A  noble  dream  !  what  was  it  else  I  saw ' 
Part  sat  like  rocks  ;  part  reel'd  but  kept  their 

seats  ; 
Part  roll'd  on  the  earth  and  rose  again  and 

drew: 

^^'■'  ^^^^^^  "'"'  with  floundering  horses. 

From  Arac's  arm,  as  from  a  giant's  flail, 

where    '^'  "       '  **  ^^'^  ^"'^  ^""""y 
He  rode  the  mellay,  lord  of  the  ringine  lists 

Shock'd,  like  an  iron-clanging  anvil  bai.g'd 
With  hammers ;  till  I  thought,  can  this  be  he 
The  m^?r/  '  '^V''^'^  '°'"^-  'f  'his  be  so" 
dream  '  "'  most -and  in  my 

Iglanced aside,  and  saw  the  palace-front 
ATive  with  fluttering  scarfs  and  ladies°eves 
And  highest,  among  the  statues,  statue-^fke 

With  Psyche's  babe,  was  Ida  watchine  u.; 

Like"! 'I"-"';.''  °(  S"'''  =""""  her  hai  ."'  ' 
Like  a  Sain  's  glory  up  in  heiven  :  but  she 
No  saint  -  inexorable  -  no  tenderness  - 

Yea  t't-  '"^  ""'';  r  «''e  sees  me  fight, 
V^ea,  let  her  see  me  fall  I  with  that  I  drave 
Amon^  the  thickest  and  bore  down  a Se 

All  thrr'  °"'-,7"i'^'  ■"«  ""ake  mvd S 
All  that^I  would.    But  that  large-moulded 

His  visage'  all  agrin  as  at  a  wake. 

Made  at  me  thro'  the  press,  and,'  staggering 

'^'"ma°nL°,^e^'^°''^"'^^°--d  horse- 
As  C9mes  a  pillar  of  electric  cloud     • 
Flaying  the  roofs  and  sucking  up   he  r1r-,;nc 
And  shadowing  down  the  clam^p'Sln'^liril 

On  a  wood,  and    takes,  and  breaks    ^nA 
:racks,  and  splits,  ^*''*'  *"'^ 

And  twists^^the  gram  with  such  a  roar  that 

Kirte,t"b' '.han'hisr,'?ig''huve. 

And   Cyril    seeW  ^j"^ ''^""^^^  i"'."  down  : 

Prince^  *^^    *'  "'e 

ftl^^n^7uH^  '''?'"'■  '■"""^  his  helmet,  tough, 
s  rong,  supple,  smew-corded,  apt  at  arms  • 

And  Uire»\- "^r-  ''i°"^^''  ^ethatTmote 

Sins      •  "*'  ^  ^P"'^'*''  I  feJ'  ray 


A  ME  DIE  y. 


103 
Stretch  w^th  fierce  heat;  a  moment  hand  to 
And  sword 'to  sword,  and  horse  to  horse  we 

^'"  Van«d  °"'  '"^  '^°'''^^'  'he  blade 
I  did  but^^she^r  a  feather,  and  dream  and 
Flow'd  from  me  ;  darkness  closed  me  ;  and 

Home  they  broughth^r  warrior  dead  • 

She  nor  swooned,  nor  utter'd  cry : 
AU  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 
ane  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

"^pJIimI^-  P'^'"^^,  him,  soft  and  low,  ■ 
Lali  d  hini  worthy  to  be  loved, 

Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe ;      . 
Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place, 
Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept, 
V    '  u*  'ace-cloth  from  the  face  • 
Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years. 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee- 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears  — 
ijweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

VI. 

Mv  dream  had  never  died  or  lived  aeain 
As  m  some  mystic  middle  sta  e  I  lav^ 
Seemg  I  saw  not,  hearing  not  I  &': 

So  often  te  "°''  r'  "i^y  '°'d  •"«  all 
so  otten  that  I  speak  as  having  seen. 

Th^??l?  ;',  ?««'"'d.  or  so  they  said  to  me, 

MSse""'  ^'^^  '"'^  vanquish'd  and  my 
Forever  lost,  there  went  up  a  great  crv 
The  Pnnce  is  slain.     My^at^er  he^d  and 

ran 

And"™ir!f  •  ""'^  '"l"!  ""'a«d  my  casque 
Came^Cnlf  °"  ""^  ^"^V'  and  after'^him^ 
«-ame  Psyche,  sorrowing  for  Aglaia. 

wfth  P^^u^°V^.^  P?'a«  Ida  stood 

foot  """=  'here  on  the 

Like  that  great  dame  of  Lapidoth  she  sang. 

"  Our  enemies  have  fall'n,  have  fall'n  :  the 

seed 

The  little  seed  they  laugh'd  at  in  the  dark, 
rlas  ri«<>n  »nd  "l-A  -F-    -   •!  -v.  umiv, 

bulk "       '  '  grown  a 

^'^rh^^"'^^!  ^'""'h'  'hat  lays  on  every  side 
A  thousand  arms  and  rushes  to  the  Sun 

"°7hey"came'   '''^'   '"'"'"•   ^^"^  '^"'«' 
^'''trerh«Td^^'  "•'»»-'-"'•  tear,: 


»«4 


<    i 


A  noise  of  songs  they  would  not  understand  : 
Ihey  mark'd  It  with  the  red  cross  to  the  tall. 
And  would  have  strown  it,  and  are  fall'n 
themselves.  ' 

"  Our  enemies  have  fall'n,  have  fall'n  : 
they  came. 
The  woodmen  with  their  axes  :  lo  the  tree  ! 
But  we  will  make  it  fagots  for  the  hearth, 
And  shape  it  plank  and  beam  for  roof  and 

floor, 
And  boats  and  bridges  for  the  use  of  men. 

"  Our  enemies  have  fall'n,   have   fall'n  ■ 

they  struck ; 
With  their  own  blows  they  hurt  themselves, 

nor  knew 
There  dwelt  an  iron  nature  in  the  grain  • 
1  he  glittering  axe  was  broken  in  their  arms 

blade  ""'"^  ^'ia"er'd  to  the  shoulder 

"°grow^"''"  have  fall'n,  but  this  shall 

A  night  of  Summer  from  the  heat,  a  breadth 

rolTd    '''■°PP'"S  fruits  of  power -and 

With  music  in  the  growing  breeze  of  Tim^ 

Ihe  top^s^shall  strike  from'  staTto°staT:The 

Shall  move  the  stony  bases  of  the  world. 


T//£  PH/JVCBSS: 


^"'^'''BllncL""'^"'^  ""''"  '^''^^-  but 
At  distance  follow'd  :  so  they  came  •  nnnn  v 
Ihro-  open  field  into  the  lists  thTy  wound 

1  hat  holds  a  stately  fretwork  to  the  Snn 
And  follow'd  up  by  a  hundred  ai  J  does  ' 
Steps  with  a  tender  foot,  lig|„  as  on  afr  ' 
Ihe  lovely  lordly  creature  floated  on 
'""X'd"  """"'^^  ^'<^^CnlTy;  ther« 

''""ai;d°p"r:st''""'-*'"'''""'^°"--.- 
AnH'^^'"'^^•  ^"^  "^^'''d  tliem  dear  deliverers 

And  s;T:.  Y?'"'^f  ?i"'^  ™,'.""^''-"  ■'-'"'  r* 

here  "  ""'  "*  '"  "^<= '«""»  bui 

^"'rrier'vU'°"'"°*-"''°'">-f-E''^, 
With  female  hands  and  hospitality." 

^'"'cha^ncV''^''  ""^^'^  ^^  '•"'"'  "'^  ^"^  '■' 
Ti'^  P?5',!"y  ^y-.   Up  started  from  my  side 


"And  now,  O  maids,  behold  our  sanctu- 
ary 
Is  violate,  our  laws  broken  :  fear  we  not 
lo  break  them  more  in  their  behoof,  whose 

arms 
Cf'3"ilP,'9l'd  our  cause  and  won  it  with  a  day 
iiianch  d  m  our  annals,  and  perpetual  feast, 
wnen  dames  and  heroines   of  tl^j  golden 

year 
Shall  strip  a  hundred  hollows  bare  of  Sprine. 
Jo  ram  an  April  of  ovation  round 
ineir  statues,  borne  aloft,   ihe  three:  but 

come, 
We  will  be  liberal,  since  our  rights  are  won. 
i^et  them  not  lie  in  the  tents  with  coarse 

mankind, 
I]   nurses  ;  but  descend,  and  proffer  these       i 
ilie  brethren  of  our  blood  and  cause,  that  ' 
there  ■  I 

'"trief  ''"^  "'^''"'^'  "'^  *^"^^'"  '"'"'^-  I 
Of  female  hands  and  hospitality." 

She  spoke,  and  with  the  babe  yet  in  her 
arms. 

Descending,  burst  the  great  bronze  valves, 

and  led 
A  hundred  maids  in  train  across  the  Park 
bome  cowl'd,  and  some  bare-headed,  on  thev 

came.  ' 

Their  feet  in  flowers,  her  loveliest :  by  them 

went 

felf  """         blossom  wavering 

And  over 'them  the  tremulous  isles  of  light,    ' 


Ihe  haggard  father's  face  and  reverend  beard 
Of  fiJ'"""'  ^''djbbled  with  the  blood 
Of  his  own  son,  shudder'd,  a  twitch  of  pain 
Tortured  her  mouth,  and  o'er  her  foEd 

P3St 

^  """^faid'-  ''"'^  ''*''  ''"*  <=''anged,  and  she 
No  more  :  at  which  the  king  in  bitter  scorn 

And  held  them  up :  she  saw  them,  and  a  day 
Rose  from  the  distance  on  her  memory,"  ^ 
When  the  good  Queen,  her  mother,  shore 

the  tress 
With  kisses,  ere  the  days  of  Ladv  Blanche  • 
And  then  once  more  she  look'd  at  my  pale 

Till  understanding  all  the  foolish  work 
Of  Fancy,  and  the  bitter  close  of  all 
Her  iron  will  was  broken  in  her  mind  • 
Her  noble  heart  was  molten  in  her  breast  ■ 
She  bow'd,  she  set  the  child  on  the  earth  • 

she  laid 
^/^^''."g,fi"eer  on  my  brows,  and  presently 
O  Sire,"  she  said,  "he  lives:  lie  is  not 
dead  : 
O  let  me  have  him  with  my  brethren  here 
In  our  own  palace  :  we  will  tend  on  him 
Like  one  of  these  ;  if  so,  by  any  means, 
lo  lighten  this  great  clog  of  thanks,  that 

make 
Our  progress  falter  to  the  woman's  goal." 

^''^ivts'"'  *""*  ''"  ^^^  ''^PP^  ^"'^  "''* 

My   father   stoop'd,    re-father'd    o'er    my 
wounds.  ' 


der    shade :    but 

ey  came  :  anon     ^ 
sis  they  wound 
iderof  theherd 
f'<  to  the  Sun, 
red  airy  does, 
;ht  as  on  air, 
floated  on 
ethren  lay;  there 

child  on  one, — 

m  dear  deliverers^ 
"ortal  names, 
e  in  the  tents  bm 

horn  you  fought, 

pitality." 

'  this,  or  was  it 

ed  from  my  side 
is  whelpless  eye, 
le  lying  stark, 
lotionlessly  pale, 
;  and  when  she 

I  reverend  beard 
vith  the  blood 
I  twitch  of  pain 
er  her  forehead 

anged,  and  she 

other  slew  him 

in  bitter  scorn 
linting  and  the 

hem,  and  a  day 
r  memory," 
mother,  shore 

I.ady  Blarche  : 
k'd  at  my  pale 

ish  work 
e  of  all, 
er  mind  ; 
I  her  breast ; 
on  the  earth ; 

and  presently 
es :  he  is  not 

ethren  here 
id  on  him 
ly  means, 
'  thanks,  that 

in'sgoal." 

)y  word  "he 

'd    o'er    my 


A  MEDLEY. 


So  those  two  foes  above  my  fallen  life 
With  brow  to  brow  like  night  and  evening 
mixt  " 

Their  dark  and  gray,  while  Psyche  ever  stole 
A  little  nearer,  till  the  babe  that  by  us, 
Haif-lapt  in  glowing  gauze  and  golden  brede, 
Lay  like  a  new-fall'n  meteor  on  the  grass, 
Uncared  for,  spied  its  mother  anri  began 
A  blind  and  babbling  laughter,  and  to  dance 
Its  body,  and  reach  its  fatling  innocent  arms 
And  lazy  lingering  fingers.     She  the  appeal 
Brook  d  not,  but  clamoring  out  "Mine  — 

mine  —  not  yours. 
It  is  not  yours,  but  mine  :  give  me  the  child," 
Ceased  all  on  tremble  :  piteous  was  the  cry  : 
So  stood  the  unhappy  mother  open-mouth'd,  I 
And  turn'd  each  face  her  way :  wan  was  her  I 

cheek 
With  hollow  watch,  her  blooming  mantle  torn,  i 
Ked  grief  and  mother's  hunger  in  her  eye,      I 
And  down  dead-heavy  sar':  her  curls,  and  I 
half 


loj 


The  sacred  mother's  bosom,  panting,  burst 
1  he  .aces  toward  her  babe  ;  but  she  nor  cared 
Nor  knew  it,  clamoring  on,  till  Ida  heard, 
Look  d  uj3,  and  nsine  slowly  from  me,  stood 
Erect  and  silent,  striking  with  her  glance 
The  mother^  me,  the  child ;  but  he  that  lay 
Seside  us,  Cyril,  batter'd  as  he  was, 
Iran  d  himself  up  on  one  knee:   then  he 

drew 
Her  robe  to  meet  his  lips,  and  down  she 

look'd 
At  the  arm'd  man  sideways,  pitying,  as  it 

SCcIll  Q« 

Or  self-involved;  but  when  she  learnt  his 
t,  *'^^' 

Remembering  his  ill-omen'd  song,  arose 
Once  more  thro'  all  her  height,  and  o'er  him 

grew 
Tall  as  a  figure  lengthen'd  on  the  sand 
When  the  tide  ebbs  in  sunshine,  and  he  said : 

tkI?  '^.'u  ^""^  ^'i;°"S  and  terrible  I    Lioness 
1  hat  with  your  long  locks  play  the  Lion's 
mane  I 

^"'  ^°erHbTe^  ^*'"''*'  "****  ^^^  **°  ™°''^ 
And  stronger    See,  your  foot  is  on  our  necks. 
We  vanquish'd,  you  the  Victor  of  your  will 
What  would  you  more?  give  her  tlie  child  !• 

Orb'd  in  your  isolation  :  he  is  dead. 
Or  all  as  dead  :  henceforth  we  let  you  be  • 
Win  you  the  hearts  of  women  ;  and  bewwe 
Lest,  where  you  seek  the  common  We  of 

?im„ir!)'°"  ''^'*  *j"^  *'ie  revolving  wheel 
"""' Ne.ne'sis'°"  '°""'    ^^^   ^ '■=  «-' 
^'^^''■/?r  ^  ^^''"="'^  ^"^"'•e'  "own'd  with 
And  tread  you  put  forever  :  but  howsoe'er 
T  f  ir  15  y"""^";  never  in  your  own  arms 
lo  hold  your  own   deny  not  hers  to  her, 

Rn»     7  '\t  "Y^  '    O  '''•  I  say,  vou  keep 
One  pulse  that  beats  true  woman,  if  you  loved 
The  breast  that  fed  or  arm  that  dandled  you. 


Or  own  one  part  of  sense  not  flint  to  prayer. 
Oive  her  the  chi  d  I  or  if  you  scorn  to  lay  it. 
Yourself,  m  hands  so  lately  claspt  with  yours. 
Or  speak  to  her.  your  dearest,  her  one  Vault 
1  he  tenderness,  not  yours,  thafcould  not  kill. 
I  Oive  me  it ;  /  will  give  it  her." 

I  Ai  /•    ..  .  .  He  said  : 

At  firat  her  eye  with  slow  dilation  roll'd 
iJry  flame,  she  listening;  after  sank  and  sank 
And,  into  mournful  twilight  mellowing,  dwelt 
Full  on  the  child ;  she  took  it :  "  Pretty  bud  1 
Lily  of  the  vale  !   half-open'd  bell  of  the 

woods  ! 
Sole  comfort  of  my  dark  hour,  when  a  world 
UI  traitorous  friend  and  broken  system  made 
Wo  jjurple  in  the  distance,  mystery, 
i;iedge  of  a  lovfi  not  to  be  mine,  farewell ; 
I  Ihese  men  are  hard  upon  us  as  of  old, 
I  We  two  must  part :  and  yet  how  fain  was  I 

10  dream  thy  cause  embraced  in  'mine,  to 
1  think 

I  I  might  be  something  to  thee,  when  I  felt 
Xhy  helpless  \yarmth  about  my  barren  breast 
Jn  the  dead  prime :  but  may  thy  mother  prove 
As  true  to  thee  as  false,  false,  false  to  me  I 
And,  if  thou  needs  must  bear  the  yoke    I 
wish  it  ' 

Gentle  as  freedom"  — here  she  kissed  it: 
then  — 

"All  good  go  with  thee  I  take  it,  Sir,"  and 

so 
Laid  the  soft  babe  in  his  hard-mailed  hands. 
Who    turn'd  half-round  to  Psyche   as   she 

sprang 

Th.n^f'L' •'.'^"''  ^"  ^y=.  ''^="  *wum  in  thanks  ; 
Ihen  felt  It  sound  and  whole  from  head  to 
loot. 

And  hugg'd  and  never  hugg'd  it  close  enough. 
And  in  her  hunger  mouth'd  and  mumbled  it. 
Ana  hid  her  bosom  with  it  ;  after  that 
Put  on  more  calm  and  added  suppliantly 


I  go  to  mine  own 


"  We  two  were  friends  ; 

land 
Forever  :  find  some  other :  as  for  me 
I  scarce  am  fit   for  your  great    plans  :  yet 

speak  to  me, 
Say  one  soft  word  and  let  me  part  forgiven," 

But  Ida  spoke  not,  rapt  upon  the  child. 
Then  Arac.      "Ida—  'sdeath  !    you  blame 

the  man  ; 
You  wrong  yourselves  — tlie  woman  is  so  hard 
Upon  the  woman.     Come,  a  grace  to  me  ' 
I  am  your  warrior  ;  I  and  mine  have  fought 
Your  battle  :  kiss  her ;   take  her  hand,  she 

weeps : 
'Sdeath!   I  would  sooner  fight  thrice   o'er 

than  see  it." 


A  ^"   Ida  spoke  not,  gazing  on  the  ground. 
And  reddening  in  the  furrows  of  his  chin. 
And  moved  beyond  his  custom,  Gama  said  : 

A  '7tX.®  beard  that  there  is  iron  in  the  blood. 
And  I  believe  it.     Not  one  word  ?  not  one  ? 
Whence  drew  you  this  steel  temper?  not 
from  me, 


io6 


She  falJT ?'°"V'"?""l'  "'"^  *  "'■"•  '^'th  saints, 
bhe  sa.d^ou  had  a  heart  -  I  heard  her  say 

'  But  le^  .h?,  '  '"''"■' '  ~ ^',"  "«=  ''he  died  - 

Uiit  bee  that  some  one  with  authority 
lie  near  her  still, 'and  I  - 1  sought  for  one  - 
A  I  people  said  she  had  authority  — 

word"'^"'^^'*^  ■  '"'"'''  '"'°"' '     ^°'  °"^ 

^fff  i''°r'  \"'"''  '^^r'''"  *"«»  =  S"  how  you  stand 
Stiff  as  Lot's  wife,  and  all  the  good  knights 

maim  d, 
I  trust  that  there  is  no  one  hurt  to  death. 

W°,7iJ"L'','  •"''""  '■  '"'^^^^  "  'hen  for  {his, 
Was  it  for  this  we  gave  our  palac-;  up, 

«atV"     ^^*  from  summer  heats  and 

And  had  our  wine  and  chess  beneath  the 

planes, 
And  niatiy  a  plearant  hour  with  her  that  "s 

Ere  you  were  born  to  vex  us  ?     Is  it  kind  ' 
\lfu      !:°       ,  I  say  :  'S  this  not  she  of  whom 
When  first  she  came,  all  flush'd  you  said  to 

Now  had  you  got  a  friend  of  your  own  aee 
Now  coui'd  you  share  your  ^hougl?  jTo'w 

should  men  see 
Two  women  faster  welded  in  one  love 
Ihan  pairs  of  wedlock;  she  you  walk'd  with. 

You  talk'd  with,  whole  nights  long,  up  in  the 

tower. 
Of  sine  and  arc,  spheroid  and  azimuth. 
And  right  ascension,  Heaven  knows  what : 

and  now 
A  word,  but  one,  one  little  kindly  word, 
Not  one  to  spare  her:  out  upon  you,  flint  I 
You  love  nor  her,  nor  me,  nor  any  ;  nay. 
You  shame  your  mother's    judgment    too. 

Not  one .' 
You  will  not?  well-n,  heart  have  you,  or 

such  '     ' 

As  fancies  like  the  vermin  in  a  nut 
Have  fretted  all  to  dust  and  bitterness." 
5>o  said  the  small  king  moved  beyond  his 
wont. 


T//£  PRINCESS. 


But  Ida  stood  nor  spoke,  drain'd  of  her 
torce 
By  many  a  varying  influence  and  so  long 
Down  thro'  her  limbs  a  droopi       '    ^ 


wept: 


ing  languor 

A  rfnl^K^S  "'-^  !'^",'  V?"''  ""  her  mouth 
A  doubtful  smile  dwelt  like  a  clouded  moon 
In  a  still  water  :  then  brake  out  my  sire 
i-ming  his  grim  head  from  my  wounds      "  O 

you, 
&^"*  "i' °i'?r"'^.'j'°"f  ht  woman  even  now, 

Because  he  might  have  wish'd  it -but  we 

see 
The  accomplice  of  your  madness  unforgiven. 
And  think  that  you  might  mix  his  draught 

with  death,  * 

When^our  skies  change  again  :  the  rougher 

Is  safer :  on  to  the  tents :  take  up  the  Prince." 


He  rose,  and  while  each  ear  was  pritk'd  to 
attend 

A  *""Eroke '"'°'  ""*  *''°'"'  ""*'  '"'"'"'''  her 

^  ^'^"s^ho'^e'''""'  *"''  "'''''  °""  "'"''^'  ='"'' 
Thro'  glittering  drops  on  her  sad  friend 

O  Psyche,'"  she  cried  out.  '•  c^iSlTra cf  ml; 

^'iih''onI'l h'  \  ""="  '•  ";="^'  >-«oncilement  sure 
Come/n  .  ,    IT"°1  ''"P  her  mind  an  hour  : 
K?ir  V.K  ^''•°"°,'^  heart  they  slander  so  ! 
Kiss  and  befnends,  like  children  bdngchid  I 

(  should  h  '""'I;  ■/  "■;"""  C°^gi veness  tto  : 
ThaM,,  ^"^  r  ^'' '°  '^'2  ^"h  "one  but  maids, 
mat  have  no  links  with  men.     Ah  false  bu 

dear, 
Dear  traitor,  too  much  loved,  why?  — why? 

Yet  see,  •' 

Before  these  kings  we  embrace  you  yet  once 

more 
With  all  forgiveness,  all  oblivion. 
And  trust,  not  love,  you  less. 

n       i  ■'^"d  """'.  O  Sire, 

orant^me  your  son,  to  nurse,  to  wait  upon 

Like  mine' own  brother.  For  my  debt  to  him, 
inis  nightmare  weight  of  gratitude,  I  know 

Taunt  me  no  more  :  yourself  and  yours  sh  ill 

nave 
Free  adit :  we  will  scatter  all  our  maids 
■till  happier  times  each  to  her  proper  hearth  : 
What  use  to  keep  them  here  now.-"  grant  mv 
prayer.  •' 

Help,  father,  brother,  help;  speak  to  the  king: 
lhaw  this  male  nature  tosome  touch  of  thit 
Which  kills  me  with  myself,  and  drags  me 

down  ° 

From  my  fixt  height  to  mob  me  up  with  all 
Ihe  soft  and  milky  rabble  of  womankind. 
I'oor  weakling  ev'^n  as  they  are." 
T^  ,1     , ,      ,    ,  .  Passionate  tears 

Follow'd  :  the  king  replied  not :  Cyril  said  : 
Your  brother,  Lady,  -  Florian,  -  ask  for 
him 

Of  your  great  head  —  for  he  is  wounded  too- 
Ihat    you   may  tend  upon  him   with  the 

prince. 
"Ay  so,"  said  Ida  with  a  bitter  smile. 

Our  laws  are  broken  :  let  him  enter  too  " 
i  hen  Violet,  she  that  sang  the  mournful  sonc. 
And  had  a  cousin  tumbled  on  the  plain, 
Petition'd  too  for  him.     "  Ay  so.'^she  said. 

I  stagger  m  the  stream  :  I  cannot  keep 

My  heart  an  eddy  from  the  brawling  hour  : 

ye  break  our  laws  with  ease,  but  let  it  be  " 

Ay  so?"  said  Blanche:  "Amazed  am  I'to 

hear 

Your  Highness  :  but  your  Highness  breaks 

\v!tn  e^.'^c 
The   law    your    Highness   did  not  make: 
t  was  I. 

l*'Ki'",",j'''l^^^d  ^''"^'  I  '"'ew  mankind, 
And  block'd  them  out ;  but  these  men  came 

to  woo 
Your  Highness  — verily  I  think  to  win," 


tiearwasprickMtd 

d  that  dimm'd  her 

ht  once  more,  and 

her  sad  friend. 

"Come  hither, 
ut,  "  embrace  me, 

reconcilement  sure 
her  mind  an  hour  : 
they  slander  so  ! 
lildren  beingcliid  1 
orgiveness  too : 
th  none  but  maids, 
en.     Ah  false  but 

red,  why?  — why? 

race  you  yet  once 

livion, 

ss. 

And  now,  O  Sire, 

rse,  to  wait  upon 

>r  my  debt  to  him, 
;ratitude,  i  know 

If  and  yours  shill 

ill  our  maids 

er  proper  hearth  : 

e  now  .■"  grant  my 

speak  to  the  king: 
ime  touch  of  that 
f,  and  drags  me 

me  up  with  all 
f  womankind, 
are." 

Passionate  tears 
lot :  Cyril  said  : 
orian,  —  ask  for 

s  wounded  too— 
him   with  the 

ter  smile, 

im  enter  too." 
!  mournful  song, 
I  the  plain, 
I  so,'' she  said, 
:annot  keep 
rawling  hour : 
but  let  it  be." 
imazed  am  I  to 

ighness  breaks 

id  not  make : 

;w  mankind, 
lese  men  cams 

ik  to  win," 


A  MEDLEY. 


So  she,  and  turn'd  askance  a  wintry  eye  • 
But  Ida  with  a  voice,  that  like  a  bell 
Toll  d   by  an    earthquake    in  a  trembline 
tower,  " 

Rang  ruin,  answer'd  full  of  grief  and  scorn. 

"  Fling  our  doors  wide  I  all,  all,  not  one, 

but  all. 
Not  only  he,  but  by  my  mother's  soul, 
Whatever  man  lies  wounded,  friend  or  foe, 
Shall  enter,  if  he  will.     Let  our  girls  flit. 
Till  the  storm  die  I  but  had  you  stood  by  us 
The  roar  that  breaks  the  Pharos  from  his 

base 
Had  left  us  rock.    She  fain  would  sting  us 

too, 
IM  shall  not.     Pass,  and  mingle  with  your 

hkes.  ■" 

We  brook  no  further  insult  but  are  gone." 

She  turo'd ;  the  very  nape  of  her  white 
neck 
Was  rosed  with  indignation  :  but  the  Prince 
Her  brother  came;    the    king   her   father 

charm 'd 
Her  wounded  soul  with  words  :  nor  did  mine 

own 
Refuse  her  proffer,  lastly  gave  his  hand. 

Then  us  they  lifted  up,  dead  weights,  and 

bare 
Straight  to  the  doors:  to  them  the  doors 

gave  -vay 
Gioanuij;,  and  in  the  Vestal  entry  shriek'd 
Ihe  virgm  marble  under  iron  heels  : 
And  on  they  moved  and  gain'd  the  hall,  and 

there 
Rested  :  but  great  the  crush  was,  and  each 

base. 
To   left   and  right,  of  those  tall  columns 

drcwn'd 
In  silken  fluctuation  and  the  swarm 
Of  female  whisperers :  at  the  further  end 
was  raa  by  the  throne,  the  two  great  cats 
Close  by  her,  like  supporters  on  a  shield, 
Bow-back'd  with  fear:  but  in  the  centre 

stood 
The  common  men  with  rolling  eyes ;  amazed 
Ihey  glared  upon  the  women,  and  aghast 
The  women  stared  ,.t  these,  all  silent,  save 
When  armor  clash'd  or  jingled,  while  the  day. 
Descending,  struck  athwart  the  hall,  and  sho 
A  flying  splendor  out  of  brass  and  steel, 

heYd         ^'^'"^'  '"P'  from  head  to 
Now  fired  an  angry  Pallas  on  the  helm, 
Now  set  a  wrathful  Dian's  moon  on  flame, 
An^  ""^aT^-  '^^^  =>"  e-^'^"  started  up,      ' 

d"ed"'"^         '''°'"  '°°"'  *°  '°°"''  ^"'^ 
Of  fright  in  far  apartments. 

ne  Tj,  .      J   .  .  Then  the  voice 

Of  Ida  sounded,  issuing  ordinance  : 

Thro'^^  ^°^^  "'^  "**  '"'°^'*  ^'^'"^  ^°^ 
The  long-laid  galleries  past  a  hundred  doors 
io  one  deep  chamber  shut  from  sound,  and 
dua 


»«r 


To  anguid  Hmbs  and  iickness  ;  left  me  in  it  : 
And  others  otherwhere  they  laid  ;  and  all 
Ihat  afternoon  a  sound  arose  of  hoof 
■n'li  ^''^'■'f"'  ""any  a  maiden  passing  home 
iill  happier  times:  but  some  were  left  of 

those 
Held  sagest,  and  the  great  lords  out  and  in, 
iTom  those  two  hosts  that  lay  beside  the 

wajls, 
^alk'd^at  their  will,  and  everything  wa» 

Ask  me  no  more  :  the  moon  may  draw  the 
sea ; 
The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take 

the  shape. 
With  fold  to  fold,  of  mountain  or  of  cape  ; 
Uut  U  too  fond,  when  have  I  answer'd  thee  ? 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more:   what  answer  should  I 
give? 
I  love  not  hollow  cheek  or  faded  eye  • 
Yet,  O  my  friend,  I  will  not  have  thee  die  I 
Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live ; 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more  :   thy  fate  and  mine  are 
seald : 
I  itrove  against  the  stream  and  all  in  vain  : 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main  : 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield  ; 
Ask  me  no  more. 


VII. 


So  was  their  sanctuary  violated, 
bo  their  fair  college  turn'd  to  hospital  ; 
At  first  with  all  confusion  :  by  and  by 
bweet  order  lived  again  with  other  laws  : 
A  kindlier  influence  reign'd ;  and  everywhere 
U)w  voices  with  the  mmistering  hand 
Hung  round  the  sick :  the  maidens  came, 

they  talk'd. 
They  sang  they  read  :  till  she  not  fair,  began 
1  o  gather  light,  and  she  that  was,  became 

Av°ru  u     f  ''^?"'y  "■^'>'e  ;  a"d  to  and  fro 
With  books,  with  flowers,  with  Angel  oflfices, 
J-.ike  creatures  native  unto  gracious  act. 
And  in  their  own  clear  element,  they  moved. 

But  sadness  on  the  soul  of  Ida  fell. 
And    hatred   of  her  weakness,  blent  with 

shame. 
Old  studies  fail'd  ;  seldom  she  spoke  ;   but 

oft 
Clomb  to  the  roofs,  and  gazed  alone  for  hours 
On   hat  disastrous  leaguer,  swarms  of  men 
Darkening  her  female  field:  void  wa«   h»r 

use ; 
And  she  as  one  that  climbs  a  peak  to  gaze 
O  er  land  and  main,  and  sees  a  great  black 

cloud 
Drag  inward  from  the  deeps,  a  wall  of  night, 
Blot  out  the  slope  of  sea  from  verge  to  shore. 
And  suck  the  blinding  splendor  fi-ora  the 

saod. 


io8 


And  quenching  lake  by  lake  and  tarn  bv  tarn 

So  blacken'ci  all  her  world  in  secret,  blank 
And  waste  .t  seem'd  and  vain  :  till  down  she 

And  fo^und  fair  peace  once  more  among  the 


T//JS  /'/IWCA'SS: 


Nor  did  her  father  ceaie  to  press  my  claim 
N,.   dul  nune  own  now  reconciled?  nor  ye» 

Nor  Arac,  satiate  with  his  victory. 


^"''^  lHJlT  "'^'^  '"'°  "^'="'^'='^".  "nd 
Star  after  star  'arose  and  fell  ;  but  I, 
iJteper  than  those  weird  doubts  could  reach 
me,  lay  •=•".11 

Quite  sunder'd  from  the  moving  Universe 
1  hat  nursed  me.  more  than  infant,  it,  /heir 

But  Psyche  tended  Florian  :  with  her  oft 
Mehssa  came  ;  for  Blanche  had  gone,  but°eft 
Her  child  among  us,  willing  she  s.ioHd  kieo 
Court-favor:  here  and  there  the  small  brifih'J 

nr'i?,'"  °fu'^'^'''''"S',fi'='"«d  about  the  couch 

Peen'd  .h  '  ^'"■"^  ^'"^^  '^^  tender  face      ' 
W-.E  ?'i  ^",'"'"8  '"  upon  the  wounded  man 

sllves'"*^  '"""'  "  -"^dicine  inThem- 
^°  "^and  draw"^"'  '^'°'"  ''"'S"°^°"s  hours, 
'^'""'&'"sF£^''"  '■  "°'-^«'n'd  it  strange 

Wh'^.T  "^^^J"'  *"''  "'°^«  fai'-  charities 

hearts'  '      '  "°'  '''^"^er  seem'd  that 
So  gentle,  so  emnloy'd,  should  close  in  love 
1  han  when  two  cTew-dropson  the  petal  shake 
down,'  '""'  """•  ^"'^  '''""^^'^  'JS" 
And  slip  at  once  all-fragrant  into  one. 


But  I  lay  still,  and  with  me  oft  she  sat  • 
1  hen  came  a  cnange  ;  for  sometime,  /would 

4''''"     l'ersweet,asifinironv        ' 

And  cal^l  |,er  hard  and  cold  which  seem'd  a 

i  III  <ut  of  long  frustration  of  her  care 
An.i  pensive  tendance  in  the  all-wearv  noons 
And  watches  in  the  dead,  theS^XM,' 

'Ihrobb^^d  thunder  thro'  the  palace  floors,  or 

On  flying  Time  from  all  their  silver  tongues- 
And  out  of  memories  of  her  kindlier  liys 

AnH  I'r'^^i.'"'^  ^•^"^"  ='  -"y  father's  grief, 
An^  ^'''^^.t^PPy. 'overs  heart  in  helrt- 

Anrf  W,.?   ,'?•■'""  •'"^''  °f  ""y  spo'^en  love, 
And  lonely  hsenmgs  to  my  mutter'd  dream 

An^  °'^!"  '^=1'"K  ??  the  helpless  hands        ' 

Fron7^lf' "1''''°°^'"«'°"  '^^  wastedch^ek- 
F  rom  all  a  closer  interest  flourish'd  up. 
lenderncss  touch  by  touch,  and  last,  to  these 
Love,  hke  an  Alpine  harebell  hung  w  tl  ,e^i 

ILTm"'^,,"'"'"'"^  ?="='«'  •■  fr^an  a  first 
And  feeble,  all  unconscious  of  itself 
But  such  as  gather'd  color  day  by  day. 


aI^IZ^IITv"^^^  the  second  suit  obtain'd 
had'swo'^r'''-    ''°'  "'°"«'^  "'-<=he 

Xh»  I'^'^'r  "'"*  dark  night  among  the  fields, 
name'""''  """*  '""  ^°'  ^"  °^"  8°od 

NoJ  'tho'^'h^"i•l°5°^*''*  '^?'''=  '«'°^«=d  : 

fear'd  "'  ^'*'^^''   ''''='  ''"' 

wVi'^r"'^-,*''^  "^^d  once  more  ;  till  on  a  day 

SSp«!''.'"i-r!^«^-d     ' 


5"i"..^"'  of  Psyche  (  orw"foo.rshe"hung 

rfai 


A  mnm.V,;       i   1    V°"  "*■■  '°°t  she  hung 
A  )\,TT'u^"/  *•'*  '^^"d,  at  which  herffce 
A^  t  5"/h'd.  and  she  past  on  ;  but  each 
f„^,^i1|!f X'-°'".«hence  a  half-consent  involved 
m  »:ii!,:eM,  phghted  troth,  and  were  at  peace,  i 

Nor  only  these  :  Love  in  the  sacred  halls    ; 
He  d  cam.val  at  will,  and  flying  struck  ' 

With  showers  of  random  sweet  on  maid  and 


^"dia^"'"'  ""'■  ^"'  *''""'S''  '='°''e  to 
For  weakness:  it  was  evening:  silent  licht 

i        'ZuS''"""'^  '''"''  "'^"^'■^'''^ 
j  Two  grand  designs  :  for  on  one  side  arose 
1  he  women  up  fn  wild  revolt,  and  storm'd 

The  forum,  and  half-crush'd  among  the  rest 

HnrT.'n'''^  ^^'°  ^-"y^'d-  On  the  Other  side 
Hortensia  spoke  agamst  the  tax ;  behind 

w?,?'"i?^f'''!"^r  •■  ^J  a'"'  a"d  eagle  sat. 

IcoS!"  ^°"'^'"'^^  drawn  in  Roman 

I  And  half  the  wolf's-milk  curdled  in  their 
[  vems. 

I  H^tfPn'l"'"!""!-'''''  and  before  them  paused 
I  Hortensia,  pleading :  angry  was  her  Ace. 

I  savj  the  forms  :  I  knew  not  where  I  was  • 
^  didjjut  seem  as  hollow  shows;  nor 

Sweet  Ida  :  palm  to  palm  she  sat :  the  dew 
Dwelt  in  her  eves,  and  softer  all  her  shape 
And  rounder  sfiow'd  :  I  moved  :  I  sigh^S  :  a 
touch  ** 

^^'^^  haud^  ""^  ""'***  *"^  ***"  "P""  ""y 


A   MEDLEY. 


\o  press  my  claim, 
concilcd ;  nor  yet 
>>  risen  again  an4 

I  victory. 

me  oft  she  sat : 
sometimes  I  would 

1.  gripe  it  hard, 
I,  and  shriek 
p  it  once  again, 
lew  her  not, 
n  ironv, 
Id  which  seem'd  a 

I  should  lose  my 

t  I  should  die  : 
of"  her  care, 
e  all-weary  noonn, 
.  the  dark,  when 

i  palace  floors,  or 

r  silver  tongues— 
r  kindlier  days, 

father's  grief, 
art  in  heart  — 
if  spoken  love, 

mutter'd  dream, 
pless  hands, 
lewastedcheek— 
)urish'd  up, 
md  last,  to  these, 

II  hung  with  tears 
er  ;  frail  at  first 
of  itself, 

ay  by  day. 

ellnigh  close  to 

ig:  silent  light 
5,  wherein  were 

ne  side  arose 
,  and  storm'd 
ic  shapes,  they 

among  the  rest 
n  the  other  side 
ax;  behind, 
i  eagle  sat,      . 
iwn  in  Roman 

irdled  in  their 

re  them  paused 
/as  her  nice. 

t  where  I  was  : 
w  shows;  nor 

sat :  the  dew 
ill  her  shape 
i :  I  sigh'd  :  a 

ears  upon  ray 


Then  all  for  languor  and  self-pity  ran 
Mine  down  my  face,  and  with  what  life  I  had, 
And  like  a  flower  that  cannot  all  unfold, 
So  drench'd  it  is  with  tempest,  to  the  sun, 
Yet,  as  it  may,  turns  toward  him,  I  on  her 
Fixt  my  faint  eyes,  and  utter'd  whisperingly : 

"If  you  be,  what  I  think  you,  some  sweet 
dream, 
I  would  but  ask  you  to  fulfil  yourself; 
Hut  if  you  be  that  Ida  whom  I  knew, 
I  ask  you  nothing:  only,  if  a  dream, 
Sweet  dream,  be  perfect.      1   shall  die  to- 
night. 
Stoop  down  and  seem  to  kiss  me  ere  I  die." 


109 


Now  folds  the  lily  all  her  sweetneM  up, 
And  slips  into  the  bosom  of  the  lake  : 
So  told  thyself,  my  dearest,  thou,  and  slip 
Into  my  bosom  and  be  lost  in  me." 

I  heard  her  turn  the  page  ;  she  found  a 
small 
Sweet  Idyl,  and  once  more,  as  low,  she  read : 


I  could  no  more,  but  lay  like  one  in  trance. 
That  hear    his  burial  talk'd  of  by  his  friends. 
And  cannot  speak,  nor  move,  nor  make  one 

But  lies  and  dreads  his  doom.    She  turn'd  ; 

she  paused ; 
She  Rtoop'd  ;  and  out  of  languor  leapt  a  cry ; 
Leapt  fiery  Passion  from  the  brinks  of  death ; 
And  I  believed  that  in  the  living  world 
My  spirit  closed  with  Ida's  at  the  lips  ; 
Till  back  I  fell,  and  from  mine  arms  she  rose 
Glowing  all  over  noble  shame ;  and  all 
Her  falser  self  slipt  from  her  like  a  robe. 
And  left  her  woman,  lovelier  in  her  mood 
Than  in  her  mould  that  other,  when  she  came 
From  barren  deeps  to  conquer  all  with  love  ; 
And  down  the  streaming  crystal  dropt ;  and 

she 
Far-fleeted  by  the  purple  island-sides, 
Naked,  a  double  light  in  air  and  wave, 
10  meet  her  Graces,  where  they  deck'd  her 

out 
For  worship  without  end  ;  nor  end  of  mine, 
stateliest,   for  thee  I   but   mute  she  glided 

forth, 
Nor  glanced  behind  her,  and  I  sank  and  slept. 
Fill  d  thro'  and  thro'  with  Love,  a  happy 

sleep. 

Deep  in  the  night  I  woke  :  she,  near  me, 
held 
A  volume  of  the  Poets  of  her  land  : 
There  to  herself,  all  in  low  tones,  she  read. 

"  ^w'hife'*''*  *'^*  crimson  petal,  now  the 
Nor  waves  the  cypress  in  the  palace  walk  ; 
Nor  winks  the  gold  fin  in  the  porphyry  font : 
The  firefly  wakens :  waken  thou  with  me. 

"  Now  droops  the  milkwhite  peacock  like 
a  ghost. 
And  like  a  ghost  she  glimmers  on  to  me. 

A  "j^S'^J'**  *''*  ^*''''>  a"  I>»"=>e  to  the  stars, 
And  aU  thy  heart  lies  open  unto  me. 

"Now  slides  the  silent  meteor  on,  and 
leaves 
A  shining  furrow,  as  thy  thoughts  in  me. 


"  Come  down,  O  maid,  from  yonder  moun- 
tain height : 
What  pleasure  lives  in  height  (the  shepherd 

sang) 
In  height  and  cold,  the  splendor  of  the  hills? 
Hut  cease  to  move  so  near  the  Heavens,  and 
cease 

To  glide  a  sunbeam  by  the  blasted  Pine, 
lo  sit  a  star  upon  the  sparkling  spire  ; 
And  come,  for  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come 
i<or  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come  thou  down 
And  find  him  ;  by  the  happy  threshold,  he, 
Or  hand  iii  hand  with  Plenty  in  the  maize. 
Or  red  with  spirted  purple  of  the  vats. 
Or  foxlike  in  the  vine  ;  nor  cares  to  walk 
With   Death   and    Morning  on   the   Silver 

Horns, 
Nor  wilt  thou  snare  him  in  the  white  ravine 
Nor  find  him  dropt  upon  the  firths  of  ice 
Ihat  huddling  slant  in  furrow-cloven  falls 
lo  roll  the  torrent  out  of  dusky  doors : 
But  follow  ;  let  the  torrent  dance  thee  down 
lo  find  him  in  the  valley  ;  let  the  wild 
Lean-headed  Eagles  yelp  alone,  and  leave 
Ihe  monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope,  and 
spill 

Their  ttiousand  wreaths  of  dangling  water- 
smoke, 
That  like  a  broken  purpose  waste  in  air : 
So  waste  not  thou;  but  come;   for  all' 

vales 

Await  thee  ;  azure  pillars  of  the  hearth 
Arise  to  thee  ;  the  children  call,  and  I 
Thy  shepherd  pipe,  and  sweet  is  every  sound 
Sweeter  thy  voice,  but  every  sound  is  sweet ; 
Myriads  of  rivule'.s  hurrying  thro'  the  lawn, 
1  he  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees." 
So  she  low-toned;  while  with  shut  eves  I 
lay  ^ 

Listening  ;  then  look'd.    Pale  was  the  perfect 

face ; 
The  bosom  with  long  sighs  labor'd ;  and  meek 
Seem  d  the  full  lips,  and  mild  the  luminous 

eyes, 
And  the  voice  trembled  and  the  hand.     She 

said 
Brokenly,  that  she  knew  it,  she  had  fail'd 
In  sweet  humility  ;  had  fail'd  in  all ; 
That  all  her  labor  was  but  as  a  block 
Left  in  the  quarry  ;  but  she  still  were  loath, 
She  sill!  were  !o:tih  to  yield  herself  to  one. 
That  wholly  scorn'd    to  help   their    equal 

rights 
Against  the  sons  of  men,  and  barbarous  laws. 
She  pray'd  me  not  to  judge  their  cause  from 

her 
That  wrong'd  it,  sought  iar  less  for  truth  than 

power 


the 


zxo 


something  wild  within  her 


'I 


i"i 


In  knowledge 
breast, 

An^H°.K"^"!f"  ^"  ''"owledge,  beat  her  down. 
And  she  had  nursed  me  there  from  week  to 

week : 
Much  had  she  learnt  in  little  time.     In  part 
It  was  ill-counsel  had  misled  the  eirl 
To  vex  true  hearts  :  yet  was  she  but  a  girl- 
Ah  fool,   and  made  myself  a  Queen  of 
larce  1 

Tin^,K'°c'""f  "°"i"  ^"''^  ?  never,  I  think 
lUl  the  Sun  drop  dead  from  the  signs." 

*^''°''*hands^  her  forehead  sank  upon  he? 

^°*  ^p\fr'^^ ''""  '^"■""^'^  *"  ^^^  ''*"'"'"' 

^*°' break"^'"^  '"  *  ^'"^*  ^    '''"■^^   "°' 

Till  notice  of  a  change  in  the  dark  world 

Was  hsp  d  about  the  acacias,  and  a  bird, 

That  early  woke  to  feed  her  little  ones, 

aent  Jrom  a  dewy  breast  a  cry  for  light  : 

She  moved,  and  at  her  feet  the  volume  fell. 

Wiame  not  thyself  too  much,"  I  said,  "nor 
blame 

^°°'"laws-'"'  '"'°'  °^'"^"  ^"'^  barbarous 

^''""nTw"'"'^  "^ough  ways  of  the  world  till 


T//E  PRINCESS. 


Sit  side  by  side,   full-summ'd  in  all  their 

powers, 
Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To-be. 
Self-reverent  each  and  reverencing  each. 
Distinct  in  individualities,  ' 

But  like  each  other  ev>  as  those  who  love 
1  hen  comes  the  statelier  Eden  back  to  men  • 

rn'lcalm  ■        '^'^  ^''''  ''"'^^'*'  '=''«"'« 

Ey^hS£|sTeT-"^  ""  °^  '^""'^°''-^- 

They  will  not."     ^'^''""^  '^^  'P°'"='  "  ^  ^^^ 

In  onr  „^"i^^^'''  ^^J'  K'  "«  ^yP*  "lein  now 
resr  '  P''°"'^  watchword 

?'",^a"».' ;  seeing  either  sex  alone 
is  lialt  Itself,  and  in  true  marriage  lies 
Nor  equal,  nor  unequal :  each  fSlfils 
^elect  in  each,  and  always  thought  in  thought 
Purpose  m  purpose,  will  in  will,  they  grow, 
Ihe  single  pure  and  perfect  animal, 
ihe  two-cell  d  heart  beating,  with  one  full 

Stroke. 
Life." 

And  again  sighing  she  spoke  :  "  A  dream 
ihat  once  was  mine!  what  woman  taught 
you  this  ?"  ° 


The"  w™-^°"  ''''*  ^  '^^'P«^'  •"«•  'h^'  "oiow 
s?^  '^  '"'"'*  '■  ^^^^  "^^  °^ 

Together,  dwarfd  or  godlike,  bond  or  free  : 
l:,or  she  that  out  of  Lethe  scales  with  man 
Ane  shining  steps  of  Nature,  shares  with 

•His  nights,  his  days,  mc   s  with  him  to  one 

goal, 
Stays  all  the  fair  young  planet  in  her  hands— 
If  she  be  small,  slight-natured,  miserable,      I 
How  shall  men  grow?   but  work  no  more 

alone  I 
Our  place  is  much  :  as  far  as  in  us  lies 
We  two  will  serve  them  both  in  aiding  her— 
Will  clear  away  the  parasitic  forms 
That  seem  to  keep  her  up  but  drag  her 

down  — 
Will  leave  her  space  to  burgeon  out  of  all 
W«hm  her—  let  her  make  herself  her  own 
lo  give  or  keep,  to  live  and  learn  and  be 
AH  that  not  harms  distinctive  womanhood. 
For  woman  is  not  undevelopt  man. 
But  diverse  :  could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 
bweet    ove  were  slain  :  his  dearest  bond  is 

this. 
Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference. 
Yet  in  the  long  years  liker  must  they  grow ; 
ine  man  be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man  ; 
He  gam  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  height, 
Nor  lose  the  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the 

world  ; 
She  mental  breadth,  nor  fail  in  childward 

care. 
Nor  lose  the  childlike  in  the  larger  mind : 
1  111  at  the  last  she  set  herself  to  man, 
Like  perfect  music  unto  noble  words ; 
And  so  these  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  Time, 


Alone,    Isaid,  "fromearlierthanlknow. 
Immersed  in  rich  foreshadowings  of  the  world 
I  loved  the  woman  :  he,  that  doth  not,  lives 
A  drowning  life,  besotted  in  sweet  self, 
Ur  pines  in  sad  experience  worse  than  death. 
Or  keeps   his  wing'd  affections  dipt  with 

crime : 
Yet  was  there  one  thro'  whom  I  loved  her 
I  one  ' 

i  Not  learned,  save  in  gracious  household  ways. 
Not  perfect,  nay,  but  full  of  tender  wants. 
No  Angel,  but  a  dearer  being,  all  dipt 
in  Angel  instincts,  breathing  Paradise, 
Interpreter  between  the  Gods  and  men. 
Who  look'd  all  native  to  her  place,  and  yet 
On  tiptoe  seem'd  to  touch  upon  a  sphere 
loo  gross  to  tread,  and  all  male  minds  per- 
force 
Sway'd  to  her  from  their  orbits  as  they  moved 
And  girdled  her  with  music.     Happy  he 
With  such  a  mother  !  faith  in  womankind 
Beats  with  his  blood,  and  trust  in  all  things 

high 
Comes  easy  to  him,  and  tho'  he  trip  and  fall 
He  shall  not  blind  his  soul  with  clay." 

"  But  I," 
Said  Ida,  tremulously,  "  so  all  unlike  — 
It  seems  you  love  to  cheat  yourself  with 

words  : 
This  mother  is  your  model.     I  have  heard 
Of  your  strange  doubts  :  they  well  might  be  : 

I  seem 
A  mockery  to  my  own  self.    .Never,  Prince ; 
You  cannot  love  me." 

„_  ,  "Nay  but  thee,"  Isaid, 

I  rom  yearlong  poring  on  thy  pictured  eyes. 

Ere  seen  I  loved,  and  loved  thee  seen,  and 

saw 
Thee  woman  thro'  the  crust  of  iron  moods 


My 


A   MEDLEY. 


imm'd  in  all  their 

)g  the  To-be, 
'erencing  each, 

IS  those  who  love. 
Eden  back  to  men  : 
reat  bridals,  chaste 

race  of  humankind, 

she  spoke,  "  I  fear 

t  us  type  them  now 
s  proud  watchword 

c  alone 
arriage  lies 
ach  fulfils 
ihought  in  thought, 
will,  they  grow, 
t  animal, 
ing,  with  one  full 


poke  :  "  A  dream 
at  woman  taught 

irlierthanlknow, 
nngs  of  the  world, 
t  doth  not,  hves 
sweet  self, 
vorse  than  death, 
ctions  dipt  with 

liom  I  loved  her, 

1  household  ways, 
tender  wants, 
g,  all  dipt 
;  Paradise, 
Is  and  men, 
place,  and  yet 
on  a  sphere 
male  minds  per- 

s  as  they  moved, 

Happy  he 
1  womankind 
ust  in  all  things 

he  trip  and  fall 
ith  clay." 

"  But  I," 
1  unlike  — 
t  yourself  with 

[  have  heard 
well  might  be : 

>Jever,  Prince; 

:  thee,"  I  said, 

{pictured  eyes, 
lee  seen,  and 

iron  moods 


That  mask'd  thee  from  men's  reverence  up. 
and  forced  " 

Sweet  love  on  pranks  of  saucy  boyhood  :  now. 
;^iv  n  back  to  life,  to  life  ir.dced,  thro'  thee, 
Jiideed  I  love:  the  new  dav comes,  the  licht 
Dearer  for  night,  ns  dearer'thou  for  faults 
Lived  over :  lift  thine  eyes ;  my  doubts  arc 

dead, 
My  hauntin;;  sense  of  hollow  shows :  the 

change, 
This  triithful  change  in  thee  has  kill'd  it. 

Dear, 
Look  up,  and  let  thy  nature  stril^c  on  mine, 
t-ike  yonder  morningon  the  blind  half-world  ; 
Approach   and  fear  not ;  breathe  upon  my 

brows ; 
In  that  fine  air  I  tremble,  all  the  past 
Melts  mist-hke  into  this  bright  hour,  and  this 
is  mom  to  more,  and  all  the  rich  to-come 
Keels,  as  the  fcolden  Autumn  uoodland  reels 
Athwart  the  smoke  of  burning  weeds.     For- 
give me, 
I  wai,te  my  heart  in  signs  :  let  be.     My  bride. 
My  wife,  my  life.     O  we  will  walk  this  world. 
Yoked  in  all  exercise  of  noble  end. 
And  so  thro'  those  dark  gates  across  the  wild 
Ihat  no  man  knows.     Indeed  I  love  thee: 

come. 
Yield  thyself  up  :  my  hopes  and  thine  are  one : 
Accomplish  thou  my  manhood  and  thyself; 
Lay  thy  sweet  hands  in  mine  and  trust  to 
me." 


Ill 


CONCLUSION. 

So  closed  our  tale,  of  which  I  give  you  all 
1  he  random  scheme  as  wildly  as  it  rose  : 
Ine  words  are  mostly  mine;  for  when  we 

ceased 
There  came  a  minute's  pause,  and  Walter 

said, 

''<  wi;'*.^  V  ®  ^^^  "°'  y'«''^«^  ' "  then  to  me. 
What,  if  you  drest  it  up  poetically  !  " 

vLfl^^  *!  '  u^  T"u'  ^^^  '*"'"'«"  =  I  gave  assent : 
Yet  howtobind  the  scattered  scheme  of  seven 

wh?"  °"*  ^        '^    ^''''  "^'*  "^""'^ 
The  men  required  that  I  should  give  through- 

w!?h'°''K°['"°''l^'''"°'>S""gantesque, 
With  which  we  banter'd  little  Lilia  ^rst  • 

Tower,"  ""'^  P"*'"'''  '^^^  ^'="  '''«'' 

0?'in°t'hei!'iip '".  H^^^^^^'-  «'hich  they  sang, 
Or  in  their  sifent  influence  as  they  satf 

And  dZ/'""  "^  !°  ''^""«  *"h  burlesque, 
TheviZ^  h'  'P''  *^r''«  ^^o'emn  dose  - 
A  ea^lant  l^f '^'■'  '^,T'^^°^  something  real, 
nI*  m,l,    1^'"'  "^  ""'''«  princess  -  why 
Not  make  her  true-heroic  -  true-sublime  ? 

Whtk  Z';^  '^u ''■  •"?  =^'"""*  ^«  'he  close  ? 
w  "ich^y^et  with  such  a  framework  scarce  could 

Then  rose  a  little  feud  betwixt  the  two, 

A   7'."'  the  mockers  and  the  realists; 

And  I,  betwixt  them  both,  to  please  them 


'  And  yet  to  give  the  story  as  it  rose, 

I  moved  as  in  a  strange  diagonal, 
:  And  maybe  neither  pleased  myself  northern. 

But  Lilia  pleas.jd  me,  for  she  took  no  part 
In  our  dispute  :  the  sequel  of  the  tale 
Had  touch'd  her ;  and  she  sat,  she  pluck'd 

the  grass, 
She  flung  it  from  her,  thinking  :  last,  she  fixt 
A  showery  glance  upon  her  aunt,  and  said, 
You  — tell  us  what  we  are  "  who  might 
have  told,  ° 

For  she  was  crnmm'd  with  theories  out  of 

books. 
But  that  there  rose  a  shout :  the  gates  were 

closed 
At  sunset,   and   the  crowd  were  swarminir 
now,  ° 

To  take  their  leave,  about  the  garden  rails. 

So  I  and  some  went  out  to  these;  we 

climb'd 
The  slope  to  Vivian-place,  and  turning  saw 
Ihe  happy  valleys,  half  in  light,  and  half 
Far-shadowing   from   the   west,  a  land  of 

peace ; 
Gray  halls  alone  among  the  massive  groves  ; 
Trim  hamlets ;  here  and  there  a  rustic  tower 
Half-lost  in  belts  of  hop  and  breadths  of 

wheat ; 
The  shimmering  glimpses  of  a  stream ;  the 

seas; 

A  red  sail,  or  a  white  ;  and  far  beyond. 
Imagined  more    than    seen,    the   skirts   of 

France. 

"Lo°H 'here,  a  garden  !"  said  my  college 

V^%  Tory  member's  elder  son,  "and  there  1 
Ood  bless  the  narrow  sea  which  keeps  her  off, 
And  keeps  our  Bntam,  whole  within  herself, 
A  nation  yet,  the  rulers  and  the  ruled  — 
borne  sense  of  duty,  something  of  a  faith, 
Some  reverence  for  the  laws  ourselves  have 

made, 
Some  patient  force  to  change  them  when  we 

will. 
Some  civic  manhood  firm  against  the  crowd— 
But  yonder,   whiff!   there  comes  a  sudden 

heat. 
The  gravest  dtizen  seems  to  lose  his  head, 
■T-u    r  ".S  1^  scared,  the  soldier  will  not  fight, 
Ihe  httle  boys  begin  to  shoot  and  stab, 
A  kingdom  topples  over  with  a  shriek 
Like  an  old  woman,  and  down  rolls  the  world 
Jn  mock  heroics  stranger  than  our  own  ; 
Kevolts,  republics,  revolutions,  most 
No  graver  than  a  school  boys'  barring  out ; 
1 00  comic  for  the  solemn  things  they  are, 
loo  solemn  for^the  comic  touches  in  them, 
-.i.-e  our  v.'ild  Princess  with  as  wise  a  dream 
As  some  of  theirs  -  God  bless  the  narrow 

seas  I 
I  wish  they  were  a  whole  Atlantic  broad." 

"Have  patienre,"  I  replied,  "ourselves 
are  full 
Of  social  wrong  ;  and  maybe  wildest  dreams 


iia 


THE  PRINCESS  :  A    MEDLEY. 


Are  but  the  needful  preludes  of  the  truth  • 
For  me,  the  genial  day,  the  liappy  crowd, 
Ihe  sport  hnif-science,  fill  me  with  a  faith. 
I  nis  fine  old  world  of  ours  is  but  a  child 
Yet  m  the  go-cart.    Patience  I    Give  it  time 
lo  learn  as  limbs:   there  is  a  hand  that 
guides." 

In  such  discourse  we  gain'd  the  garden  rails. 
And  there  we  saw  Sir  Walter  where  he  stood 
liefore  a  tower  of  crimson  holly-oaks. 
Among  six  ooys,  head  under  he,id,  and  look'd 
No  httle  hly-handed  Baronet  he, 
A  great  broad-shoulder'd  genial  Englishman, 
A  tord  of  fat  pnze-oxen  and  of  sheep, 
A  raiser  of  huge  melons  and  of  pine, 
A  patron  of  some  thirty  charities, 
A  pamphleteer  on  guano  and  on  grain, 
A  quarter-sessions  chairman,  abler  none  ; 
*  air-hair  d  and  redder  than  a  windy  morn  ■ 
Now  shaking  hands  with  him,  now  him,  of 

those 
That  stood  the  nearest  — now  address'd  to 

speech  — 
Who  spoke  few  words  and  pithy,  such  as 

closed 
Welcome,  farewell,  and  welcome  for  the  year 
To  follow  :  a  shout  rose  again,  and  made 
Ihe  long  line  of  the  approaching  rookery 

swerve 
From  the  elms,  and  shook  the  branches  of 

the  deer 


From  slope  to  slope  thro'  distant  ferns,  and 

rang 
Beyond  tlie  bourn  of  sunset ;  O,  a  shout 
More  joyliil  th.T,n  the  city-roar  that  hails      " 
Premier  or  king!     Why  should   not  the-e 

great  Sirs 
Give  up  their  parks  some  dozen  times  a  year 

cJied  "^^      ^^"^    ■  ^°  ""■'"  ""=y 

I  likewise,  and  in  groups  they  stream'd  away. 

But  we  went  back  to  the  Abbey,  and  sat 
on,  ■" 

So  much  the  gathering  darkness  charm'd  : 

we  sat 
But  spoke  not,  rapt  in  nameless  reverie, 

RwI'^'m  "i?""  ""=  ''V'"'^  '"'''"  =  the  walls 
Blacken  d  about  us,  bats  wheel'd,  and  owls 

whoop'd, 
And  gradually  the  powers  of  the  night, 
1  hat  range  above  the  region  of  the  wind, 
Ueepenmg  the  courts  of  twilight  broke  them 

up 
Thro'  all  the  silent  spaces  of  the  worids. 
Beyond    all    thought    into   the  Heaven  of 

Heavens. 

Last  little  Lilia,  rising  quietly. 
Disrobed  the  glimmering  statue  of  Sir  Ralph 
*  rom  those  rich  silks,  and  home  well-pleased 
we  went. 


1149. 


i'  distant  ferns,  n.irl 

set ;  O,  a  shout 
■roar  that  hails      ' 
should   not  these 

dozen  times  a  year 
e  ?    So  thrice  they 

hey  stream'd  away. 

he  Abbey,  and  sat 

larkness  charm'd : 

neless  reverie, 
man  :  the  walls 
wheel'd,  and  owls 

of  the  night, 
on  of  the  wind, 
alight  broke  them 

of  the  worlds, 
I    the  Heaven  of 


jietly, 

atue  of  Sir  Ralph 

lome  well-pleased 


lU  MEMOJi/AM 


XT3 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 
Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
iiy  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove  ; 

TWne  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade  ; 

Thou  madest  life  in  man  and  brute  ; 

Thou  madest  Death  ;  and  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

T^u  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why  ; 
A   J    '"""Ks  he  was  not  made  to  die  ; 
And  thou  hast  made  him  :  thou  art  just. 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine. 
The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  thou  : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how  ; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine. 

Ow  little  systems  have  their  day; 
They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be  : 
Ihey  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 

And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

We  have  but  faith  :  we  cannot  know ; 

For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see ; 

And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  thee, 
A  beam  m  darkness :  let  it  grow. 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
cut  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell ; 
That  mind  and  soul,  according  well. 

May  make  one  music  as  before, 

But  vaster     We  are  fools  and  slight ; 
We  mock  thee  when  we  do  not  fear  : 
But  help  thy  foolish  ones  to  bear ; 

Help  thy  vain  worlds  to  bear  thy  light. 

Fojlive  what  seem'd  my  sin  in  me ; 

What  seem'd  my  worth  since  I  began  ; 

t  or  merit  lives  from  man  to  man. 
And  not  from  man,  O  Lord,  lo  thee. 

Forgive  my  grief  for  one  removed, 
1  hy  creature,  whom  I  found  so  fair. 

T  i  1"u'  "^  ''^^^  '"  thee,  and  there 
I  hnd  him  worthier  to  be  loved. 

Forgive  these  wild  and  wandering  cries. 

Confusions  of  a  wasted  youth  ; 

Forgive  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 
And  in  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 


IN  MEMORIAM 

A.  H.  H. 

OBIIT  MDcccxxxnr. 


I  HELD  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 


That  men  ma 
Of  their 


tl49. 


inen  may  rise  on  stepping-stonea 
dead  selves  to  higher  things. 

But  who  shall  so  forecast  the  years. 
And  find  in  loss  a  gain  to  match  ? 
Or  reach  a  hand  thro'  time  to  catch 

Ihe  far-off  interest  of  tears? 

Let  Love  clasp  Grief  lest  both  be  drown'd 
Let  darkness  keep  her  raven  gloss  • 
Ah,  sweeter  to  be  drunk  with  loss, 

lo  dance  with  death,  to  beat  the  ground, 

Than  that  the  victor  Hours  should  scorn 
J?f  u  "??  '■?^""  of  love,  and  boast. 
Behold  the  man  that  loved  and  lost 
isut  all  he  was  is  overworn." 


^^^  Y«w,  which  graspest  at  the  stones 
That  name  the  underiying  dead, 
Ihy  fibres  net  the  dreamless  head, 

Ihy  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  bones. 

"Tlie  seasons  bring  the  flower  again, 
And  bring  the  firstling  to  the  flock ; 
And  m  the  dusk  of  thee,  the  clock 

Beats  out  the  little  lives  of  men. 

^  wu  ^o'' thee  the  glow,  the  bloom, 
Who  changes!  not  in  any  gale. 
Nor  branding  summer  suns  avail 

lo  touch  thy  thousand  years  of  gloom : 

And  gazing  on  thee,  sullen  tree. 
Sick  for  thy  stubborn  hardihood, 
I  seem  to  fail  from  out  my  blood 

And  grow  incorporate  into  thee. 

III. 
O  SORROW,  cruel  fellowship, 

O  Priestess  in  the  v:t»h^  of  Death, 
,„V  ^'■^eet  and  bitter  in  a  breath, 
What  whispers  from  thy  lying  lip  ? 

"The  stars,"  she  whispers,  "  blindly  run  ; 

A  web  18  wov'n  across  the  sky  ; 

From  out  waste  places  comes  a  cry, 
And  murmurs  from  the  dying  sun  ; 


*'  And  all  the  phantcJm,  Nature,  stands,  - 
With  all  the  music  in  her  tone, 
A  hollow  echo  of  my  own, — 

A  hollow  form  with  empty  hands." 

And  shall  I  take  a  thing  so  blind. 
Embrace  her  as  my  natural  good  ; 
Or  crush  her,  like  a  vice  of  blood, 

Upon  the  t  ireshold  of  the  mind? 

IV. 

To  Sleep  I  give  my  powers  away ; 

My  will  is  bondsman  to  the  dark; 

I  sit  within  a  helmless  bark. 
And  with  my  heart  I  muse  and  s<-y : 

O  heart,  how  fares  it  with  thee  now. 
That  thou  shouldst  fail  from  thy  desire, 
Who  scarcely  darest  to  inquire 

"  What  is  it  makes  me  beat  so  low?  " 

Something  it  is  which  thou  hast  lost, 
S'jme  pleasure  from  thine  early  years. 
Break,  thou  deep  vase  of  chillmg  tears, 

That  Biriel  hath  shaken  into  frost  1 

Such  (.'louds  of  nameless  trouble  cross 
All  night  below  the  darken'd  eyes  ; 
With  morning  wr.kes  the  will,  and  cries, 

"Thou  Shalt  r;ot  be  the  fool  of  loss." 


I  SOKETIMBS  hold  it  half  a  sin 
1  o  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel ; 
For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal 

And  half  coi.tea)  the  Soul  within. 

But,  fo'  the  unquiet  heart  and  brain, 
A  use  in  measured  language  lies ; 
The  sad  mechanic  exercise. 

Like  dull  narcotics,  numbing  pain. 

Ir  words,  like  weeds,  7.  '11  wrap  me  o'er. 
Like  coarsest  clothes  against  the  cold ; 

But  that  large  grief  which  these  enfold 
Is  given  in  outline  and  no  more. 

VI. 

Omb  writes,  that  "Other  friends  remain," 
That  "  Loss  is  common  to  the  race,"  — 
And  common  is  the  commonplace. 

And  vacant  chaflf  well  meant  for  grain. 

That  loss  is  common  would  not  make 
My  own  less  bitter,  rather  more : 
Too  common  !    Never  morning  wore 

To  evening,  but  some  t  ^art  did  break. 

O  father,  whercsoe'er  thou  be. 
Who  pledgest  now  thy  gallant  son ; 
A  shot,  ere  half  thy  draught  be  done. 

Hath  still'd  the  life  tnat  beat  from  thee. 

O  mother,  prayine  God  will  save 
Thy  sailor,  — wTiile  thy  head  is  bow'd, 
His  heavy-shotted  hammock-shroud 

Drops  in  his  vast  and  wandering  grave. 


///  MEMOKIAM. 


Ye  know  no  more  than  I  who  wrought 
At  that  last  hour  to  please  him  well ; 
Who  mused  on  all  I  had  to  tell, 

And  something  written,  something  thought  ; 

Expecting  still  his  advent  home  : 
And  ever  met  him  on  his  way 
With  wishes,  thinking,  here  to-day, 

Or  here  to-morrow  will  he  come. 

O  somewhere,  meek  unconscious  dove, 
That  sittest  ranging  golden  hair ; 
And  glad  to  find  thyself  so  fair. 

Poor  child,  that  waitest  for  thy  love  I 

For  now  her  father's  chimney  glows 

In  expectation  of  a  guest ; 

And  thinking  "This  will  please  him  best," 
She  takes  a  riband  or  a  rose ; 

For  he  will  see  them  on  to-night ; 

And  with  the  thought  her  color  bums ; 

And,  having  left  the  glass,  she  turns 
Once  more  to  set  a  ringlet  right ; 

And,  even  when  she  tum'd,  the  curse 
Had  fallen,  and  her  future  lord 
Was  drown'd  in  passing  thro'  the  ford, 

Or  kill'd  in  falling  from  his  horbe. 

O  what  to  her  shall  be  the  end  ? 

And  what  to  me  remains  of  good? 

To  her,  perpetual  maidenhood, 
And  unto  me  no  second  friend. 


Dark  house,  by  which  once  more  I  stand 
Here  in  the  long  unlovely  street. 
Doors,  wheie  my  heart  was  used  to  beat 

So  quickly,  waiting  for  a  hand, 

A  hand  that  can  be  clasp'd  no  more,  — 
Behold  me,  for  I  cannot  sleep. 
And  like  a  guilty  thing  I  creep 

At  earliest  morning  to  the  door. 

He  is  not  here  ;  but  far  away 
The  noise  of  life  begins  again. 
And  ghastly  thro'  the  drizzling  rain 

On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day. 

VIII. 

A  HAPPY  lover  who  has  come 
To  look  on  her  that  loves  him  well. 
Who  'lights  and  rings  the  gateway  bell, 

And  learns  her  gone  and  far  from  home  ; 

He  saddens,  all  the  magic  light 
Dies  off  at  once  from  bower  and  hall. 
And  all  the  place  is  dark,  and  all 

Tlic  chambers  emptied  of  delight : 

So  find  I  every  pleasant  spot 
In  which  we  two  were  wont  to  meet. 
The  field,  the  chamber,  and  the  street, 

For  all  is  dark  where  thou  art  not. 


who  \vrought 
jse  him  well ; 
d  to  tell, 
jmething  thought ; 

home  : 
is  way 

here  to-day, 
i  come. 

nscious  dove, 
den  hair ; 
'  so  fair, 
r  thy  love  I 

ney  glows 

;t; 

1  please  him  best," 

se; 

i-night : 
5r  color  bums  ; 
is,  she  turns 
nght ; 

1,  the  curse 
re  lord 

thro'  the  ford, 
3  hon>e. 

end? 
of  good  ? 
nhood, 
end. 


:e  more  I  stand 

y  street, 

'as  used  to  beat 

ind, 

no  more,  — 
sleep, 
creep 
loor. 


igam, 
szling  ram 
le  blank  day. 


le 

him  well, 

gateway  bell, 
■  from  home ; 

ght 

er  and  hall, 

and  all 

iiight ; 


It  to  meet, 
d  the  street, 
t  not. 


/IV  MEMORTAM. 


Yet  as  that  other,  wandering  there 
In  those  deserted  walks,  may  find 
A  flower  beat  with  rain  and  wind, 

Which  once  she  foster'd  up  with  care  ; 

So  seems  it  in  my  deep  regret, 

0  my  forsaken  heart,  with  thee 
And  this  poor  flower  of  poesy 

Which  little  cared  for  fades  not  yet. 

But  since  it  pleased  a  vanish'd  eye, 

1  go  to  plant  it  on  his  tomb, 
That  if  it  can  it  there  may  bloom. 

Or  dying,  there  at  least  may  die. 

IX. 

Fair  ship,  that  from  the  Italian  shore 
Sailest  the  placid  ocean-plains 
With  my  lost  Arthur's  loved  remains. 

Spread  thy  full  wings,  and  waft  him  o'er. 

So  draw  him  home  to  those  that  mourn 
In  vain  ;  a  favorable  speed 
Ruffle  thy  mirror'd  mast,  and  lead 

Thro'  prosperous  floods  his  holy  urn. 

All  night  no  ruder  air  perplex 
Thy  sliding  keel,  till  Phosphor,  bright 
As  our  pure  love,  thro'  early  light 

Shall  glimmer  on  the  dewy  decks. 

Sphere  all  your  lights  around,  above  ; 

Sleep,  gentle  heavens,  before  the  pn  v  ; 

Sleep,  gentle  winds,  as  he  sleeps  now. 
My  friend,  the  brother  of  my  love  ; 

My  Arthur,  whom  I  shall  not  see 
Till  all  my  widow'd  race  be  run  ; 
Dear  as  the  mother  to  the  son, 

More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me. 

X. 

I  HEAR  the  noise  about  thy  keel ; 

I  hear  the  bell  struck  in  the  night ; 

I  see  the  cabin-window  bright; 
I  see  the  sailor  at  the  wheel. 

Thou  bringest  the  sailor  to  his  wife, 
And  traveli'd  men  from  foreign  lands; 
And  letters  unto  trembling  hands  ; 

And,  thy  dark  freight,  a  vanish'd  life. 

So  bring  him  :  we  have  idle  dreams  : 
This  look  ofquiet  flatters  thus 
Our  home-bred  fancies  :  O  to  us. 

The  fools  of  habit,  sweeter  seems 

To  rest  beneath  the  clover  sod, 

That  takes  the  sunshine  and  the  rains, 
TlH''  K^"^  "r'^  ^"eeling  hamlet  drains 
Ihe  chahce  of  the  grapes  of  God  ; 

Than  if  with  thee  the  roarin?  wells 
Should  gulf  him  lathom-deep  in  brine  ; 
And  hands  so  often  clasp'd  in  mine 

ijJiould  toss  with  tangle  and  with  shells. 

xt. 

Calm  is  the  mom  without  a  sound, 
Kam  as  to  suit  a  calmer  grief, 


i«S 


And  only  thro'  the  faded  leaf 
The  chestnut  pattering  to  the  ground  : 

Calm  and  deep  peace  on  this  high  wold 
And  on  these  dews  that  drench  the  fuwe, 
And  all  the  silvery  gossamers 

That  twinkle  into  green  and  gold  : 

Calm  and  still  light  on  yon  great  plain 
That  sweeps  with  all  its  autumn  bowers. 
And  crowded  farms  and  lessening  towers. 

To  mingle  with  the  bounding  main  : 

Calm  and  deep  peace  in  this  wide  air. 
These  leaves  that  redden  to  the  fall ; 
And  m  my  heart,  if  calm  at  all. 

If  any  calm,  a  calm  despair  : 

Calm  on  the  seas,  and  silver  sleep. 
And  waves  that  sway  themselves  in  rest. 
And  dead  calm  in  that  noble  breast 

Which  heaves  but  with  the  heaving  deep. 

XII. 

Lo,  as  a  dove  when  up  she  springs 
To  bear  thro'  Heaven  a  tale  of  woe, 
Some  dolorous  message  knit  below 

The  wild  pulsation  of  her  wings ; 

Like  her  I  go  ;  I  cannot  stay  ; 
I  leave  this  mortal  ark  behind, 
A  weight  of  nerves  without  a  mind, 

And  leave  the  cliffs,  and  haste  away 

O'er  ocean-mirrors  rounded  large. 
And  reach  the  glow  of  southern  skies, 
And  see  the  sails  at  distance  rise, 

And  linger  weeping  on  the  marge, 

And  saying,  "Comes  he  thus,  my  friend? 

Is  this  the  end  of  all  my  care?" 
«  y^''^! .circle  moaning  in  the  air  : 

Is  this  the  end?    Is  this  the  end?" 

And  for\vard  dart  again,  and  play 
About  the  prow,  and  back  return 
To  where  the  body  sitr,,  and  learn, 

1  hat  I  have  been  an  hour  away. 

xiir. 

Tears  of  the  wid'         when  he  sees 
A  late-lost  form  i.-..  sleep  reveals, 
And  moves  his  doubtful  arms,  and  feels 

Her  place  is  empty,  fall  like  these  ; 

Which  weep  a  loss  forever  new, 
A  void  where  heart  on  heart  reposed  ; 
And,  where  warm  hands  have  prest  and 
clos'd. 

Silence,  till  I  be  silent  too. 

Which  weep  the  comrarfp  of  my  choice. 
An  awful  thought,  a  life  removed, 
The  human-hearted  man  I  loved, 

A  Spirit,  not  a  breathing  voice. 

Come  Time,*nd  teach  me,  many  years, 

I  do  not  siiflTer  in  a  dream  ;    • 

For  now  so  strange  do  these  things  seem, 
Mme  ejres  have  leisure  for  th«»  t«an; 


u6 


IN  M£MORIAM. 


n:\ 


My  fendes  time  to  rise  on  wing, 
And  glance  about  the  approaching  sails, 
As  tho  thev  brought  but  merchants'  bales. 

And  not  the  burthen  that  they  bring    - 


XIV. 

Ip  one  should  bring  me  this  report. 
That  thou  hadst  touch'd  the  land  to-day. 
And  I  went  down  unto  the  quay, 

And  found  thee  lying  in  the  port ; 

•And  standing,  muffled  round  with  woe, 
Should  see  thy  passengers  in  rank 
Come  stepping  lightly  down  the  plank. 

And  beckonmg  uuto  those  they  know ; 

And  if  along  with  these  should  come 
The  man  I  held  as  half-divine  ; 
Should  strike  a  sudden  hand  in  mine. 

And  ask  a  thousand  things  of  home ; 

And  I  shotild  tell  him  all  my  pain. 
And  how  my  life  had  drooped  of  late, 
And  he  should  sorrow  o'er  my  state 

And  marvel  what  possess'd  my  brain  ; 

And  I  perceived  no  touch  of  change. 
No  hmt  of  death  in  all  his  frame. 
But  found  him  all  in  all  the  same, 

I  should  not  feel  it  to  be  strange. 

XV. 

To-night  the  winds  begin  to  rise 
And  roar  from  yonder  dropping  day : 
The  last  red  leaf  is  whiri'd  away, 

The  rooks  are  blown  about  the  skies ; 

The  forest  crack'd,  the  waters  curi'd. 

The  cattle  huddled  on  the  lea ; 

And  wildly  dash'd  on  tower  and  tree 
ine  sunbeam  strikes  along  the  worid  : 

•And  but  for  fancies  which  aver 
1  hat  all  thy  motions  gently  pass 
Athwart  a  plane  of  molten  glass, 

I  scarce  could  brook  the  strain  and  stir 

That  makes  the  barren  branches  loud ; 
And  but  for  fear  it  is  not  so. 
The  wild  unrest  that  lives  in  woe 

Would  dote  and  pore  on  yonder  cloud 

That  rises  upward  always  higher. 
And  onward  drags  a  laboring  breast, 
And  topples  round  the  dreary  west, 

A  louming  bastion  fringed  with  fire. 

XVI. 

What  words  are  these  have  fall'n  from  me? 

Can  calm  despair  and  wild  unrest 

Be  tenants  of  a  single  breast. 
Or  sorrow  such  a  changeling  be? 

Or  doth  she  only  seem  to  take* 
The  touch  of  cliange  in  calm  or  storm ; 
But  knows  no  more  of  transient  form 

In  her  deep  self,  than  some  4ead  lake 


That  holds  the  shadow  of  a  lark 
Hung  in  the  shadow  of  a  heaven  ? 
Or  has  the  shock,  so  harshly  given. 

Confused  me  like  the  unhappy  bark 

That  strikes  by  night  a  craggy  shelf. 
And  staggers  blindly  ere  she  sink? 
And  stunn'd  me  from  my  power  to  think 

And  all  my  knowledge  of  myself; 

■And  niade  me  that  delirious  man 
Venose  fancy  fuses  old  and  new, 
And  flashes  into  false  and  true. 

And  mingles  all  without  a  plan  ? 

XVII. 

Thou  comest,  much  wept  for :  such  a  breeze 
Compell'd  thy  canvas,  and  my  prayer 
Was  as  the  whisper  of  an  air 

To  breathe  thee  over  lonely  seas. 

For  I  in  spirit  saw  the«  move 
Thro'  circles  of  the  bounding  sky. 
Week  after  week  :  the  days  go  by  : 

Come  quick,  thou  bringest  all  I  love. 

Henceforth,  wherever  thou  may'st  roan^ 
My  blessing,  like  a  line  of  light. 
Is  on  the  waters  day  and  night, 

And  like  a  beacon  guards  thee  home. 

So  may  whatever  tempest  mars 
Mid-ocean  spare  thee,  sacred  bark ; 
And  balmv  drops  in  summer  dark 

Slide  from  the  bosom  of  the  stars. 

So  kind  an  office  hath  been  done. 
Such  precious  relics  brought  by  thee ; 
The  dust  of  him  I  shall  not  see 

Till  all  my  widow'd  race  be  run. 


XVlII. 

I  '^,',?,^*^'  J  **.'*  something ;  we  may  stand 
Where  he  in  English  eanh  is  laid, 
And  from  his  ashes  may  be  made 
The  violet  of  his  native  land. 

'T  is  little  ;  but  it  looks  in  truth 
As  if  the  quiet  bones  were  blest 
Among  familiar  names  to  rest 

And  in  the  places  of  his  youth. 

Conie  then,  pure  hands,  and  bear  the  head 
That  sleeps  or  wears  the  mask  of  sleep, 
And  come,  whatever  loves  to  weep. 

And  hear  the  ritual  of  the  dead. 

Ah  yet,  ev'n  yet,  if  this  might  be, 
I^,  falling  on  his  faithful  heart, 

T.!}'''?-')'^  ureaihing  through  his  lips  impart 
Ihe  life  that  almost  dies  in  me ; 

That  dies  not,  but  endures  with  pain. 
And  slowly  forms  the  firmer  mind. 
Treasuring  the  look  it  cannot  find, 

The  words  that  are  not  heard  again. 


a  lark 
a  heaven  ? 
rshly  given, 
ippy  Dark 

ggy  shelf, 
she  sink? 
y  power  to  think 
myself; 

IS  man 
nd  new, 
d  true, 
plan? 


For :  such  a  breeze 
id  my  prayer 
n  air 
f  seas. 


ding  sky, 
lys  go  by  : 
all  I  love. 

may'st  roanw 
f  light, 
night, 
lee  home. 

lars 

:red  bark ; 
ner  dark 
!  stars. 

done, 

;ht  by  thee ; 
ot  see 
run. 


we  may  stand 
h  is  laid, 
e  made 

L 

uth 
blest 
•est 
th. 

bear  the  head 
lask  of  sleep, 
to  weep, 
ad. 

tbe, 

jrt, 

lis  lips  imparc 

le; 


/JV  ME  MORI  AM. 


XIX. 


U-t 


th  pain, 
r  mmd, 
ot  find, 
again. 


The  Danube  to  the  Severn  gave 
The  darken;d  heart  that  beat  no  more  ; 
1  hey  laid  him  by  the  pleasant  shore. 

And  in  the  hearing  of  the  wave. 

Thtrt  twice  a  day  the  Severn  fills; 
The  salt  sea-water  passes  by, 
And  hushes  half  the  babbling  Wye 

And  makes  a  silence  in  the  hills. 

The  Vfvn  is  hush'd  nor  moved  along. 
And  hush'd  my  deepest  grief  of  all, 
When  fill  d  with  tears  that  cannot  fall, 

1  bnm  with  sorrow  drowning  song. 

The  tide  flows  down,  the  wave  again 

Is  vocal  m  its  wooded  walls  • 

My  deeper  anguish  also  falls' 
And  I  can  speak  a  little  then. 

XX. 

The  lesser  griefs  that  may  be  said, 
that  breathe  a  thousand  tender  vows, 
Are  but  as  servants  in  a  house 

Where  lies  the  master  newly  dead ; 

Who  speak  their  feeling  as  it  is. 
And  weep  the  fulness  from  the  mind  : 
It  will  be  hard,"  they  say,  "to  find 
Another  service  such  as  this." 

My  lighter  moods  are  like  to  these, 
1  hat  out  of  words  a  comfort  win ; 
But  there  are  other  griefs  within. 

And  tears  that  at  their  fountain  freeze: 

^"^  *??  *'»e,h«arth  the  children  sit 
Cold  in  that  atmosphere  of  Death, 
Ai'd  scarce  endure  to  draw  the  breath. 

Or  like  to  noiseless  phantoms  flit : 

Biit  open  converse  is  there  none, 

fao  much  the  vital  spirits  sink 
_,  10  see  the  vacant  chair,  and  think, 

How  good  I  how  kind  I  and  he  is  gone." 

XXI. 

I  ^'"9  *°.  '>■'"  that  rests  below, 
And,  since  the  grasses  round  me  wave. 
I  take  the  grasses  of  the  grave,  ' 

And  make  them  pipes  whereon  to  blow. 

The  traveller  hears  me  now  and  then 

And  mll/fl  "^  '*°"'l  "'^'^e  weakness  weak. 
And  melt  the  waxen  hearts  of  men." 

Another  answers,  "Let  him  be. 

ThVt"X!^h'£-'"^i"'-  »'*'?''"=  °»"  pain, 
that  with  his  piping  he  raav  cain 

The  praise  that  coraes^to  constancy  " 

A  third  is  wroth,  "Is  this  an  hour 
l^r  private  sorrow's  barren  song. 
When  more  and  more  the  people  throne 

The  chairs  and  thrones  of  civil  i^wer  ? 


"  ^r'u""^  tn  sicken  and  to  swoon, 

Tn  rt!ii^r*"^""  '■^^.<=''"  '°«h  her  arms 
lo  feel  from  world  to  world,  and  charms 
Her  secret  from  the  latest  moon?" 

Behold,  ye  ■  .;eak  an  idle  thing  : 
Ye  never  knew  the  sacred  dust : 
1  do  but  sing  because  I  must. 

And  pipe  but  as  the  linnets  sing  ; 

And  one  is  glad  ;  her  note  is  cay. 

For  now  her  little  ones  have  ranged  ; 

And  one  is  sad  ;  her  note  is  changed 
Because  her  brood  IS  stol'n  away. 

XXII. 

^i;5J?^u^'']',*hich  we  twain  did  go. 
Which  led  by  tracts  that  pleased  us  well. 

Frnm  S     °"''  .'*«"'  ^'^^J*  *''°^S  "nd  fell,       ' 

From  flower  to  flower,  from  snow  to  sniw : 

And  we  with  singing  cheer'd  the  way. 
And  crown  d  with  all  the  season  leit. 
From  April  on  to  April  went. 

And  glad  at  heart  from  May  to  May : 

But  where  the  path  we  walk'd  began 

lo  slant  the  fifth  autumnal  slope 

As  we  descended,  following  Hope. 

There  sat  the  Shadow  fear'd  of  man ; 

Who  broke  our  fair  companionship. 
And  spread  his  mantle  dark  and  cold. 
I  \^AA  V>A^1^^^^  formless  in  the  fold. 
And  duU'd  the  murmur  on  thy  lip, 

And  bore  thee  where  I  could  not  see 

An5  IvT'.u''"  ^  **"'''  '■>  haste, 
Th.  4  Ji      '^'*  somewhere  in  the  waste 
The  Shadow  sits  and  waits  for  me. 

XXIIl. 

Now,  sometimes  in  my  sorrow  shut, 

Ur  breaking  into  song  by  fits. 

Alone,  alone,  to  where  he  sits, 
Ihe  Shadow  cloak'd  from  head  to  foot, 

Who  keeps  the  keys  of  all  the  creeds, 
I  wander,  often  falling  lame. 
And  looking  back  to  whence  I  came. 

Jr  on  to  where  the  pathway  leads ; 

And  crying,  "  How  changed  from  where  it 
ran 
Thro'  lands  where  not  a  leaf  was  dumb  : 
But  aU  the  lavish  hills  would  hum 

Ine  murmur  of  a  happy  Pan : 

"  yhen^each  by  turns  waj  guide  to  each. 
And  r  aacy  lignt  from  t  aucy  caught. 
And    Thought  leapt   out   to   wed  with 
Thought 

Ere  Thought  could  wed  itself  with  Speech  ; 

"  ■^"  J  ^'1  '*'*  "'*'  *38  fair  and  good, 

And  a    was  good  that  Time  could  bring, 
-And  all  the  secret  of  the  Spring 
Moved  in  the  chambers  of  the  blood ; 


IP 


ti8 

"  And  many  an  old  philosophy 
On  Argive  heights  divinely  sang, 
And  round  us  all  the  thipket  rang 

To  many  a  flute  of  Arcady." 

XXIV. 

And  was  the  day  of  my  delight 
As  sure  and  perfect  as  I  say  ? 
T  '^"'' V^ry  source  and  fount  of  Day 
Is  dash  d  with  wandering  isles  of  night. 

If  all  was  good  and  fair  we  met, 
This  earth  had  been  the  Paradise 
It  never  look'd  to  human  eyes 

Since  Adam  left  his  garden  yet. 

And  is  it  that  the  haze  of  grief 
Makes  former  gladness  loom  so  great? 
1  he  lowness  of  the  present  state. 

That  sets  the  past  in  this  relief? 

Or  that  the  past  will  always  win 

A  glory  from  its  being  for  ; 

And  orb  into  the  perfect  star 
We  saw  not,  when  we  moved  therein  ? 

XXV. 

I  KNOW  that  this  was  Life,  -  the  track 
Whereon  with  equal  feet  we  fered  • 

TiZA  -1    k'  'i  ^T'  ',''«  day  prepared 
The  daily  burden  for  the  back. 

^"i  '!?'V'  *^^  '''^'  ""^^^  "le  move 
As  light  as  carrier-birds  in  air ; 
1  loved  the  weight  I  had  to  bear. 

Because  it  needed  help  of  love  ; 

Nor  could  r  weary;  heart  or  limb. 
When  mighty  Love  would  cleave  in  twain 
i  he  lading  of  a  single  pain, 

And  part  it,  giving  half  to  him. 

xxvt. 

Still  onward  winds  the  dreary  way  • 
I  with  it ;  for  I  long  to  prove 
No  lapse  of  moons  can  canker  Love. 

Whatever  fickle  tongues  may  say. 

And  if  that  eye  which  watches  guilt 
And  goodness,  and  hath  power  to  see 
Within  the  green  the  moulder'd  tree, 

And  towers  fall'n  as  soon  as  built,  — 

O,  if  indeed  that  eye  foresee 
Or  see  (in  Him  is  no  before) 
In  more  of  life  true  life  no  more, 

And  Love  the  indifference  to  be, 

Then  might  I  find,  ere  yet  the  mom 
Breaks  hither  over  Indian  seas, 
"Ihat  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys, 

1  o  shroud  me  from  my  proper  scorn. 

XXVII. 

I  ENVY  not  in  any  moods 

The  captive  void  of  noble  rage, 

Ihe  linnet  bom  within  the  cage, 
Anat  never  knew  the  summer  woods  : 


/N'  MMMORfAM. 


I  envy  not  the  beast  that  takes 
His  license  in  the  field  of  time 
Unfetter'd  by  the  sense  of  crii^e, 

1  o  whom  a  conscience  never  wakes  : 

Nor  what  may  count  itself  as  blest. 
1  he  heart  that  never  plighted  troth, 
But  stagnates  in  the  weeds  of  sloth; 

Nor  any  want-begotten  rest. 

I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall ; 
,'t  .   !."'  "'^^"  '  soiTow  most  ; 
1  IS  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Ihan  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

XXVIII. 

The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ : 
1  he  moon  is  hid  ;  the  night  is  still ; 
Ihe  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  hill 

Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 

Four  voices  of  four  hamlets  round. 
From  far  and  near,  on  mead  and  moor. 
Swell  out  and  fail,  as  if  a  door 

Vf(^rt  shut  between  me  and  the  sound  : 

Each  voice  four  changes  on  the  wind, 
1  hat  now  dilate,  and  now  decrease. 
Peace  and  good-will,  good-will  and  peace, 

Peace  and  good-will,  to  all  mankind. 

This  year  I  slept  and  woke  with  pain, 
I  almost  wish'd  no  more  to  wake. 
And  that  my  hold  on  life  would  break 

Before  I  heard  those  bells  again  : 

But  they  my  troubled  spirit  rule. 
For  they  controH'd  me  when  a  boy  ; 
1  hey  Sring  me  sorrow  touch'd  with  joy. 

The  merry,  merry  bells  of  Yule. 


XXIX. 

With  such  compelling  cause  to  prieve 
As  daily  vexes  household  peace, 
And  chains  regret  to  his  decease. 

How  dare  we  keep  our  Christmas-eve  ; 

Which  brings  no  more  a  welcome  guest 
To  enrich  the  threshold  of  the  night 
With  shower'd  largess  of  delight. 

In  dance  and  song  and  game  and  jest. 

Yet  go,  and  while  the  holly-boughs 
Entwine  the  cold  baptismal  font, 
Make  one  wre.tth  more  for  Use  and  Wont 

That  guard  the  portals  of  the  house ; 

Old  sisters  of  a  day  gone  bv, 

(if?^  nui'ses,  loving  nothing  new  ; 
^  Why  should  they  miss  their  yearly  due 

uciore  ihcir  time  ?    They  too  wiil  die. 

XXX. 


41"  ♦'■enibl'ng  fingers  did  we  weave 
1  he  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth  ; 
A  rainy  cloud  possessed  the  earth, 
And  sadly  fell  our  Christmas-eve. 


'     1, 


JN  MEMORIAM. 


119 


takes 
f  time, 
of  crime, 
■er  wakes : 

f  as  blest, 
ghted  troth, 
:ds  of  sloth ; 
it. 

fall; 
most ; 
1  and  lost 
It  ail. 


irth  of  Christ  : 
ght  is  still ; 
1  hill  to  hiU 
list. 

3  round, 
;ad  and  moor, 
door  , 

the  sound : 

the  wind, 

decrease, 
1-will  and  peace, 
nankind. 

with  pain, 
3  wake, 
A'ould  break 
gain: 

rule, 

en  a  boy  ; 

cli'd  with  joy, 

ule. 


!  to  prieve 
jeace, 
icease, 
tmas-eve ; 

:ome  guest 
the  night 
lelight, 
and  jest. 

oughs 

I  font, 

Use  and  Wont 

house ; 


new ; 

yearly  due 
will  die. 


e  weave 
las  hearth ; 
earth, 
ve. 


At  nar  old  pastimes  in  the  hall 
We  gnmboH'd,  making  vain  pretence 
(•)f  gladness,  with  an  awful  sense 

Of  one  mute  Shadow  watching  all. 

We  paused  :the  winds  were  in  the  beech 
We  heard  them  sweep  the  winter  land ; 
And  in  a  circle  hand-m-hand 

Sat  silent,  looking  each  at  each. 

Then  echo-like  our  voices  rang  ; 
We  sung,  tho'  every  eye  was  dim, 
A  merry  song  we  sang  with  him 

Last  year  :  impetuously  we  sang  : 

We  ceased  :  a  gentler  feeling  crept 

Upon  us :  surely  rest  is  meet  : 

"They  rest,"  we  said,   "their  sleep   is 
sweet," 
And  silence  follow'd,  and  we  wept. 

Our  voices  took  a  higher  range ; 
Once  more  we  sai.g  :  "  They  do  not  die 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy, 

Nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change  ; 

"  Rapt  from  the  fickle  and  the  frail 
With  gather'd  power,  yet  the  same, 
Pierces  the  keen  seraphic  flame 

From  orb  to  orb,  from  veil  to  veil." 

Rise,  happy  mom,  rise,  holy  mom, 
Draw  forth  the  cheerful  day  from  night : 
O  Father,  touch  the  east,  and  light 

The  light  that  shone  when  Hope  was  bom. 

XXXI. 

When  Lazarus  left  his  chamel-cave. 
And  home  to  Mary  s  house  return'd. 
Was  this  demanded,  —  if  he  yearn'd 

To  hear  her  weeping  by  his  grave  ? 

"Where   wert   thou,    brother,    those    four 
days  >  " 

There  lives  no  record  of  reply. 

Which  telling  what  it  is  to  die 
Had  surely  addfed  praise  to  praise. 

From  every  house  the  neighbors  met. 
The  streets  were  fill'd  with  joyful  sound, 
A  solemn  gladness  even  crown'd 

The  purple  brows  of  Olivet 

Behold  a  man  raised  up  by  Christ  I 

The  rest  remaineth  unreveal'd  ; 

He  told  it  not ;  or  something  seal'd 
1  he  hps  of  that  Evangelist. 

XXXIt. 

*^xf  *^*'  ^""^  ''°™es  of  silent  prayer, 
Nor  other  thoiight  her  mind  admits 
But,  he  was  dead,  and  there  he  sits. 

And  he  that  brought  him  back  is  there. 

Then  one  deep  love  doth  supersede 
AH  other,  when  her  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face, 

And  rests  upon  the  Life  indeed. 


AH  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears, 
Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete, 
She  bows,  she  bathes  the  Saviour's  feet 

With  costly  spikenard  and  with  tears. 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayen, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
^yhat  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure. 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs .' 

XXXIII. 

O  THOU  that  after  toil  and  storm 
Mayst  seem  to  have  reach'd  a  purer  air. 
Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere, 

Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form. 

Leave  thou  thy  sister,  when  she  prays. 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views ; 
Nor  thou  with  shadow'd  hint  confuse 

A  life  that  leads  melodious  days.  ^  ' 

Her  faith  thro'  form  is  pure  as  thine, 
Her  hands  are  quicker  unto  good  : 
O,  sacred  be  the  flesh  and  blood 

To  which  she  links  a  truth  divine  1 

See  thou,  that  countest  reason  ripe 

In  Iiolding  by  the  law  within. 

Thou  fail  not  in  a  world  of  sin. 
And  ev'n  for  want  of  such  a  type. 

XXXIV. 

Mv  own  dim  life  should  teach  me  this, 
That  life  shall  live  forevermore. 
Else  earth  is  darkness  at  the  core. 

And  dust  and  ashes  all  that  is  ; 

This  round  of  green,  this  orb  of  flame, 
Fantastic  beauty ;  such  as  lurks 
In  some  wild  Poet,  when  he  works 

Without  a  conscience  or  an  aim. 

What  then  were  God, to  such  as  I  ? 

'T  were  hardly  worth  my  while  to  choose 

Of  things  all  mortal,  or  to  use 
A  little  patience  ere  I  die  ; 

'T  were  best  at  once  to  sink  to  peace. 
Like  birds  the  charming  serpent  draws. 
To  drop  head-foremost  in  the  jaws 

Of  vacant  darkness,  and  to  cease. 

XXXV. 

Ybt  if  some  voice  that  man  could  tmst 
Should  murmur  from  the  narrow  house, 
"  The  cheeks  drop  in  ;  the  biody  bows  ; 

Man  dies :  nor  is  there  hope  in  dust  "  : 

Might  I  not  say,  "  Yet  even  here. 
But  for  one  hour,  O  Lnvc,  I  strive 
To  keep  so  sweet  a  thing  alive  "? 

But  I  should  tura  mine  ears  and  hear 

The  moanings  of  the  homeless  sea. 
The  soundof  streams  that  swift  or  slow 
Draw  down  .Ionian  hills,  and  sow 

The  dust  of  continents  to  be ; 


tM 


w  "^^ 


And  Love  would  answer  with  a  sieh 
'1,"|»«  sound  of  that  forgetful  shori 
Will  change  my  sweetness  more  and  more 

Half-dead  to  know  that  I  shall  die." 

O  me  I  what  profits  it  to  put 
An  Idle  case  ?    If  Death  were  seen 
At  first  as  Death,  Love  had  not  been. 

Ur  been  m  narrowest  working  shut 


/A'  MEAfORIAM. 


Mere  fellowship  of  sluggish  moods, 
Or  in  his  coarsest  Satyr-shape 
Had  bruised  the  herb  and  crush'd 
grape. 

And  baskM  and  batten'd  in  the  woods. 

XXXVI. 

Tho'  truths  in  manhood  darkly  join 
Deep;seatpd  in  our  mystic  frame, ' 
W|  yield  all  blessing  to  the  name 

ui  Him  that  made  them  current  coin  ; 

^w)?^'*'^.°™f'^^",*"'»  "'"'■•a'  powers. 
Where  truth  m  closest  words  shall  faU, 
When  truth  embodied  in  a  tale 

ohall  enter  m  at  lowly  doors. 

And  so  the  Word  had  breath,  and  wrought 
With  human  hands  the  creed  of  creeds 
In  loveliness  of  perfect  deeds. 

More  strong  than  all  poetic  thought  ; 

Which  he  may  read  that  binds  the  sheaf. 
Or  builds  the  house,  or  digs  the  grave. 
And  those  wild  eyes  that  watch  tlie  wave 

m  roanngs  round  the  coral  reef. 

XXXVII. 

..'V!?^  ^P**''*  with  iarken'd  brow  ; 

TiT-   r".?.'^'^^*  *'*'■*  *'>«''e  tliou  art  least ; 
inis  faith  has  many  a  purer  priest. 
And  many  an  abler  voice  than  thou. 

"  Go  down  beside  thy  native  rill, 
On  thy  Parnassus  set  thy  feet, 
And  hear  thy  laurel  whisper  sweet 

About  the  ledges  of  the  hill." 

And  my  Melpomene  replies, 
A  touch  of  shame  upon  her  cheek : 
1  am  not  worthy  ev'n  to  speak 
Ol  thy  prevailing  mysteries  ; 

"  For  I  am  but  an  earthly  Mus«, 
And  owning  but  a  little  art 
10  lull  with  song  an  aching  heart. 

And  render  human  love  his  dues; 

"  ?"' ''rooding  on  the  dear  one  dead. 
/a"  J  J  ^^  ^*'^  of  things  divine, 
(And  dear  to  me  as  sacred  wine 

i-  o  dying  lips  is  ail  he  said,) 

"  J.murmur'd,  as  I  came  along. 

Of  comfort  clasp'd  in  truth  reveal'd  : 
A   J  J  loiter'd  in  the  Master's  field, 
^-na  darken 'd  sanctities  with  song." 


XXX  VI II 

^'^",^"■7  steps  I  loiter  on, 
1  ho  always  under  alter'd  skies 
I  he  purple  from  the  distance  diei. 

My  prospect  and  horizon  goi:e. 

1  he  herald  melodies  of  -.prine 

A  5"'J'V'!'",^°"«*  '  'ove  to  sing 
A  doubtful  gleam  of  solace  lives. 

the     ^^i"^  ^^^^-  ^°^  wJ'at  's  here 

Survive  in  spirits  render'd  free, 
ilieii  are  these  songs  I  sine  of  the« 
Not  all  ungratef.,1  to  thin-  ear. 

XXXIX. 

Could  we  forget  the  widow'd  hour. 
And  look  on  Spirits  breathed  away. 
I  iwL    °"  *  maiden  in  the  day 
I  When  first  she  wcrs  her  orange-flo.ver ! 

^T^".,TT''',*' ■''  ^'"'"'nK  she  doth  ris« 
To  take  her  latest  leave  of  home, 

M.iT-  A  P?*  ?"J^  ''«•"  '■*=«''e's  that  corns 
Make  April  of  her  tender  eyea ; 

And  doubtful  joys  the  fether  move. 
And  tears  are  on  the  mother's  fece. 
As  parting  with  a  long  embrace 

She  enters  other  realms  of  love  : 

Her  oflfice  there  to  rear,  to  teach, 
^ecoming,  as  is  meet  and  fit, 
A  link  among  the  days,  to  knit 

A  he  generations  each  with  each  ; 

•And,  doubtless,  unto  thee  is  given 

A  life  that  bears  immortal  fruit 
„J"  such  great  ofl^ices  as  suit 
Ihe  full-grown  energies  of  heaven. 

Ay  me,  the  difference  I  discern  1 
How  often  shall  her  old  fireside 
Be  cheer'd  with  tidings  of  the  bride. 

How  often  she  herself  return, 

■And  tell  them  all  they  would  have  told,  * 
And  bring  her  babe,  and  make  her  boast 
Ti  1  even  those  that  miss'd  her  most 

onaJl  count  new  things  as  dear  as  old  : 

^  ^^.J,''°"  ^nd  I  have  sha.:en  hands, 
iill  growing  winters  lay  me  low: 
My  paths  are  in  the  fields  I  know, 

And  thine  in  undiscover'd  lands, 

XL. 

Thy  spirit  ere  our  fatal  loss 
l)id  ever  rise  from  high  to  higher  ; 
As  WGunts  the  heavenward  aitas-fire, 

As  flies  the  lighter  thro'  the  gross. 

But  thou  art  tum'd  to  something  stranrt, 
And  I  have  lost  the  links  that  bound 
t  hy  changes  ;  here  upon  the  ground. 

No  more  partaker  of  thy  change. 


IN  ME  MORI  AM. 


til 


on, 

'd  skies 
itance  diet, 
joi:e. 

1  gives, 
■Pring, 
to  sing 
:  lives. 


•d  free, 
iing  of  thee 
ear. 


v'd  hour, 
thed  away, 

>y 

range-flo./er ! 

K  she  doth  rise 
)f  home, 
ets  that  corns 

r  move, 
ler's  face, 
ibrace 
ove: 

each, 

knit 
ach; 

given 
fruit 
t 
eaven. 

ml 
:side 
the  bride, 


have  told, 
lake  her  boast, 
her  most 
ir  as  old : 

hands, 

low; 

know, 
ds. 


igher; 
uui'-fire, 

'OSS. 

ng  Stranrt, 
It  bound 
ground^ 
le. 


) 


/ 


Deep  folly  !  yet  that  this  could  be,  — 
That  I  could  wing  my  will  with  might 
To  leap  the  grades  of  life  and  light, 

And  flash  at  once,  my  friend,  to  thee  : 

For  tho'  my  nature  rarely  yields 
To  that  vague  fear  implied  in  death ; 
Nor  shudders  at  the  gulfs  beneath, 

The  bowlings  from  forgotten  fields : 

Yet  oft  when  sundow-.  skirts  the  m  ^r 

All  inner  trouble  I  behold, 

_  A.  spectral  doubt  which  makes  me  cold, 
That  I  shall  be  thy  mate  no  more, 

Tho'  following  with  an  upward  mind 
The  wonders  that  have  come  to  thee. 
Thro'  all  the  secular  to-be, 

But  evetmore  a  life  behind. 

XLI. 

I  VKX  my  heart  with  fancies  dim  : 
He  still  outsfript  me  in  the  race  ; 
It  was  but  unity  of  place 

That  made  me  dream  I  rank'd  with  him. 

And  so  may  Place  retain  us  still, 
And  he  tht  r.iui  h-beloved  again, 
A  lord  of  large  experience,  train 

To  riper  growth  the  rcinu  and  will : 

And  what  delights  can  equal  those 
That  stir  the  spirit's  inner  deeps. 
When  one  that  loves,  but  knows  not,  reaps 

A  truth  from  one  that  loves  and  knows  ? 

XLII. 

If  Sleep  and  Death  be  truly  one, 
And  every  spirit's  folded  bloom 
Thro'  all  its  intervital  gloom 

In  some  long  tranca  should  slumber  on  ; 

Unconscious  of  the  sliding  hour. 
Bare  of  the  body,  might  it  last, 
And  silent  traces  of  the  past 

Be  all  the  color  of  the  flower : 

So  then  were  nothing  lost  to  man  ; 

So  that  still  garden  of  the  souls 

In  many  a  figured  leaf  enrolls 
The  total  world  since  life  began  ; 

And  love  will  last  as  pure  and  whole 
As  when  he  loved  me  here  in  Time, 
And  at  the  spiritual  prime 

Rewaken  wi;h  the  dawning  soul. 

XLIII. 

How  fares  it  with  the  happy  dead  ? 

r  or  nefs  the  ^r,?.-.  is  rjiofc  and  laorc  ; 

But  he  forgets  the  days  before 
God  shut  the  doorways  of  his  head. 

The  days  have  vanish'd,  tone  and  tint, 
And  yet  perhaps  the  hoarding  sense 
A  Gives  out  at  times  (he  knows  not  whence) 
A  little  flash,  a  mystic  hint ; 


And  in  the  long  harmonious  years 

(If  Death  so  taste  Lethean  sprinejs) 
May  some  dim  touch  of  earthly  things 
Surprise  thee  ranging  with  thy  peers. 

If  such  a  dreamy  touch  should  fall, 
O  turn  thee  round,  resolve  the  doubt ; 
My  guardian  angel  will  speak  out 

In  that  high  place,  and  tell  thee  all. 

XLIV. 

The  baby  new  to  earth  and  sky. 
What  time  his  tender  palm  is  prest 
Against  the  circle  of  the  breast. 

Has  never  thought  that  "  this  is  I "  : 

But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much, 
And  learns  the  use  of  "  I,"  and  "me," 
And  finds  "  I  am  not  what  I  see. 

And  other  than  the  things  I  touch." 

So  rounds  he  to  a  separate  mind 
From  whence  clear  memory  may  begin. 
As  thro'  the  frame  that  binds  him  in 

His  isolation  grows  defined. 

''his  use  may  lie  in  blood  and  breath. 
Which  else  were  fruitless  of  their  due. 
Had  man  to  learn  himself  anew 

Beyond  the  second  birth  of  Death. 

XLV. 

We  ranging  down  this  lower  track, 
The  path  we  came  by,  thorn  and  flower, 
Is  shadow'd  by  the  growing  hour. 

Lest  life  should  fiil  in  looking  back. 

So  be  it :  there  no  shade  can  last 
In  that  deep  dawn  behind  the  tomb. 
But  clear  from  marge  to  marge  shall  bloom 

1  he  eternal  landscape  of  the  past : 

A  lifelong  tract  of  time  reveal'd  ; 

The  fruitful  hours  of  still  increase  ; 

Days  order'd  in  a  wealthy  peace, 
And  those  five  years  its  richest  field. 

O  Love,  thy  province  were  not  large, 
A  bounded  field,  nor  stretching  far ; 
Look  also.  Love,  a  brooding  star, 

A  rosy  warmth  from  marge  to  marge. 


That  each,  who  ieems  a  separate  whole. 
Should  move  his  rounds,  and  fusing  all 
The  skirts  of  self  again,  should  fkU 

Remerging  in  the  general  Soul, 

Isjfaith  as  vague  as  all  unsweet : 
l!.teniai  form  shall  siiii  divide 
The  eternal  soul  from  all  beside  ; 

And  I  shall  know  him  when  we  meet ; 

And  we  shall  sit  at  endless  feast, 
Enjoying  each  the  other's  good  : 
What  vaster  dream  can  hit  the  mood 

Of  Love  on  earth  ?    He  seeks  at  least 


Upon  the  last  and  sharpest  height. 
Hetore  the  spirits  fade  away, 


AV  MEMOR/AM. 


.Si.me  landing-place,  to  clasp  and  say. 
l.nr 11  .    Vl/e  ,0^  ourselves  in  light.' 


"  Farewell  I 


Ana  men  the  flies  of  latter  spri 

That  lay  their  eggs,  and  sdng  : 

And  weave  thfir  petty  eciisOndc 

Be  near  me  when  I  fade  away, 
To  point  the  term  of  human  strife, 

Ti   "V*  -'.^  l''^  '"^  ^^'^  verge  of  life 
1  he  twilight  of  eternal  day. 


XLVII. 

'Mjiese  brief  lays,  of  Sorrow  bom, 
Were  taken  to  be  such  as  closed 
(.rave  doubts  and  answers  here  proposed. 

Then  these  were  such  as  men  might  scorn  : 

Her  care  is  not  to  part  and  prove  ; 
wi*  takes,  when  harsher  moods  remit, 
What  slender  shade  of  doubt  may  flit 

And  makes  it  vassal  unto  love  : 

And  hence,  indeed,  she  sports  with  words. 

Hut  better  serves  a  wholesome  law, 
tiTj        '"'  "  *'"  ^nt*  shame  to  draw 
ine  deepest  measure  from  the  chords: 

Nor  dare  she  trust  a  larger  lay, 
But  rather  loosens  from  the  lip 
bhort  swallow-flights  of  song,  that  dip 

1  heir  wmgs  in  tears,  and  skim  away. 

XLvm. 

From  art,  from  nature,  from  the  schools 
Let  random  influences  glance,  ' 

Like  light  in  many  a  shiver'd  lance 

lliat  breaks  about  the  dappled  pools: 

The  lightest  wave  of  thought  shall  lisp, 
i  he  fancy's  tenderest  eddy  wreathe, 
Ihe  slightest  air  of  song  shall  breathe 

1  o  nia,;e  the  sullen  surface  crisp. 

■And  look  thy  look,  and  go  thy  way, 
«ut  blame  not  thou  the  winds  that  make 
ine  seeming-wanton  ripple  break, 

Ihe  teiider-pencil'd  shadow  play. 

Beneath  a!i  fancied  hopes  and  fears, 
Ay  me  !  the  sorrow  deepens  down, 
Whose  muffled  motions  blindly  drown 

1  he  bases  of  my  life  in  icara. 

XLIX. 

^Vu"  ?"«  when  my  hght  is  low. 

When  the  blood  creeps.and  the  nerves  prick 
A  -And  tingle  ;  and  the  heart  is  sick. 
And  all  the  wheels  of  Being  slow. 

Be  near  me  when  the  sensuous  frame 

Is  radt'd  with  pangs  that  conquer  trust : 
A  -^na  lime,  a  maniac  scattering  dust. 
And  Life,  a  Fury  slinking  flame. 

Be  near  me  when  my  faith  is  dry, 
And  men  the  flies  of  latter  spring. 

[  and  smg, 

L  die. 


I  Do  we  indeed  desire  the  dead 

Should  still  be  near  us  at  our  side? 
Is  there  no  baseness  we  would  hide? 
No  inner  vileness  that  we  dread? 

Shall  he  for  whose  applause  I  strove, 
I  had  such  reverence  for  his  blame 
bee  with  clear  eye  some  hidden  shame 

And  I  be  lessen'd  in  his  love  ?  ' 

I  wronK  the  grave  with  fears  untrue  : 

Shall  love  be  blamed  for  want  of  faith  ? 
,„L  ""^  ni"5t  be  wisdom  with  great  Denth 
I  he  dead  shall  look  me  thro'  and  thro'        ' 

Be  near  us  when  we  climb  or  fall  • 
Ve  w.ifch,  like  Cod,  the  rolling  hours 
With  larger  other  eyes  than  ours. 

y  0  make  allowance  for  us  all. 


LI. 

I  CANNOT  love  thee  as  I  ought, 
F  or  love  reflects  the  thing  beloved  • 
My  words  are  only  words,  and  moved 

Upon  the  topmost  froth  of  thought. 

"  y,^}  ^i'*'??  not  thou  thy  plaintive  song," 
I  ne  Spirit  of  true  love  replied  • 
Ihou  canst  not  move  me  from  thy  side. 
Norhumanfrailtydo  me  wrong. 

"  ^'^*'  ''e?Ps  a  spirit  wholly  true 

/  P  that  ideal  wTiich  he  bears  ? 

What  record  ?  not  the  sinless  years 
Ihat  breathed  beneath  the  Syrian  blue  : 

"  S?. '"'■e'  n°*>  l'l«e  an  idle  girl, 
Ihat  life  IS  dash'd  with  flecks  of  sin. 
Abide  :  thy  wealth  is  gather'd  in. 

When  Time  hathsunde^'dshellfi■o^  peari." 

LII. 

How  nriany  a  father  have  1  seen, 
A  sober  man  among  his  boys 
Whose  youth  was  full  of  foolish  noise. 

Who  we.irs  his  manhood  hale  and  green 

And  dare  we  to  this  fancy  give. 
That  had  the  wild-oat  not  been  sown, 
Ihe  soil,  left  barren,  scarce  had  grown 

me  grain  by  which  a  man  may  live? 

O,  if  we  held  the  doctrine  sound 
For  life  outliving  heats  of  youth, 
Yet  who  would  preach  it  as  a  truth 

I  o  those  that  eddy  round  and  round? 

Hold  thou  the  good  :  define  it  well : 
V  or  fear  divine  Philosophy 
Should  push  beyond  her  mark,  and  ba 

Procuress  to  the  Lords  of  Hell. 

Ltll. 

^,'V,^^  ,**  ^^^^  ''^at  somehow  good 

;«>  ill  be  the  final  goal  of  ill. 

To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  wil' 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood  ; 


IN  ME  MORI  AM. 


iead 

at  our  side  ? 
■  would  hide? 
:  dread  ? 

se  I  strove, 
r  his  blame, 
hidden  shame, 

ive  ? 

rs  untrue  : 
want  of  faith  ? 
'ilh  great  Death  : 
ro'  and  thro'. 

or  fail : 
rolling  hours 
lan  ours, 
ill. 


;  beloved ; 
and  moved 
thought. 

aintive  song," 

plied  ; 

e  from  thy  side, 

5ng. 

!  true 
ars? 

less  years 
Syrian  blue  : 

1. 

cks  of  sin, 

er'd  in, 

lell from  pearl." 


een, 

ys, 

olish  noise, 
!  and  green  : 

'e, 

jeen  sown, 
had  grown 
ay  live? 

md 
outh, 
a  truth 
round  ? 

well : 

rk,  and  ba 

U. 


f 


I 


good 

will, 
blood ; 


That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroy'd, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete  ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain  ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivell'd  in  a  fruitless  fire. 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Heboid  we  know  not  anything  ; 
I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last  —  far  off—  at  last,  to  all. 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  ruris  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

LIV. 

The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 
No  life  may  I  ill  beyond  the  grave, 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 

The  likest  God  within  the  soul  ? 

Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife. 
That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams? 
So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems. 

So  careless  of  the  single  life  ; 

That  I,  considering  everywhere 
Her  secret  nieanmg  in  her  deeds. 
And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 

She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear, 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 
And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 

That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God, 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope. 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 


"  So  careful  of  the  type  ? "  but  no. 
From  scarped  cliff  and  quarried  stone 
She  cries,  "  A  thousand  types  are  gone  ■ 

I  care  for  nothing,  all  shall  go. 

"Thou  makest  thine  appeal  to  me : 
I  bring  to  life,  I  bring  to  death  : 
The  spnit  docs  but  mean  the  breath  : 

I  know  no  more."    And  he,  shall  he, 

Man,  her  last  work,  who  seem'd  so  fair, 

?ir!     ^P,,';"'^'.''  purpose  in  his  eyes, 
«7l'   u  '•?",'?  '■''''  P»3im  to  wuiiiy  skies. 
Who  built  him  fanes  c-  fruitless  prayer, 

Who  trusted  God  was  love  indeed. 
And  love  Creation's  final  law,.— 
Tho   Nature,  red  in  tooth  and  claw 

Witlj  raviD,  shriek'd  against  his  creed,  — 


»»3 


Who  loved,  who  suffer'd  countless  ills. 
Who  battled  for  the  I'rue,  the  Just, 
Be  blown  about  the  desert  dust, 

Orseal'd  within  the  iron  hills? 

No  more?    A  monster  then,  a  dream, 
A  discord.     Dragons  of  the  prime, 
Ihat  tare  each  other  in  their  slime. 

Were  mellow  music  inatch'd  with  him. 

O  life  as  futile,  then,  as  frail  I 
O  for  thy  voice  to  sooth  and  bless  I 
What  hope  of  answer,  or  redress? 

Behind  the  veil,  behind  the  veil." 

LVI. 

Pkace  :  come  away  :  the  song  of  woe 
Is  alter  all  an  earthly  song  : 
Peace  ;  come  away :  we  do  him  wrong 

To  sing  so  wildly  :  let  us  go. 

Come  ;  let  us  go  :  your  cheeks  are  pale ; 

But  Ifalf  my  life  I  leave  behind  ; 

Methinks  my  friend  is  richly  shrinitd : 
But  I  shall  pass;  my  work  will  fail. 

Yet  in  these  ears,  till  hearing  dies. 
One  set  slow  bell  will  seem  to  toll 
The  passing  of  the  sweetest  soul 

That  ever  look'd  with  human  eyes. 

I  hear  it  now,  and  o'er  and  o'er. 

Eternal  greetings  to  the  dead; 

And  "Ave,  Ave,  Ave,"  said, 
"Adieu,  adieu,"  fortvcnuo'e. 

t-VII. 

In  those  R-id  wm^s  I  took  farewell  ; 
Like  echoes  in  sepulchral  halls, 
As  drop  by  drop  the  water  falls 

In  vaults  and  catacombs,  they  fell  ; 

And,  falling,  idly  broke  the  peace 
Of  hearts  that  beat  from  day  to  day, 
Half  conscious  of  their  dying  clay," 

And  those  cold  crypts  where  they  shall  cease. 

The    high    Muse    answer'd :    "Wherefore 
gneve 

Thy  brethren  with  a  fruitless  tear  ? 

Abide  a  little  longer  here, 
And  thou  shalt  take  a  nobler  leave." 

LVtlt. 

O  SoRKow,  wilt  thou  live  with  me. 
No  casual  mistress,  but  a  wife, 
My  b'jsom-friend  and  halfof  lifie; 

As  I  confess  it  needs  must  be ; 

O  Sorrow,  wilt  thou  rule  my  blood, 

— w  .......  ,rirj..,.»  ,f>vcij  I1R.C  it  uridc. 

And  put  thy  harsher  moods  aside, 
If  thou  wilt  have  me  wise  and  good. 

My  centred  passion  cannot  move. 

Nor  will  it  lessen  from  to-day  ; 

But  I  '11  have  leave  at  times  to  play 
As  with  the  creature  of  my  love ; 


Ill 


n 


^  With'  *''"  ^Th  '■'"•;''°"  »rt  'nine. 
With  so  much  hope  for  years  to  come, 

Pn,  Mi  '^oroe  >>■  J  know  th,ee,  some 
Could  hardly  tell  what  name  were  thine. 

LIX. 

f,P***.'  ^  *°"'  of  nobler  tone : 
My  spirit  loved  and  loves  him  yet 
Like  some  poor  girl  whose  heart  is  set 
On  one  whose  rank  exceeds  her  own. 

He  mixing  with  his  proper  sphere. 

bhe  finds  the  baseness  of  her  lot. 

Half  jealous  of  she  knows  not  what, 
And  envying  all  that  meet  him  there. 

The  little  village  looks  forlorn  ; 
She  sighs  amid  her  narrow  days, 

iJfhT/  t''^"'  *•"*  household  w4vs, 
In  that  dark  house  where  she  was  bom. 

The  foolish  neighbors  come  and  go. 
And  tease  her  till  the  day  drawl  6y  :    ' 

h;^!"!?'''^''^  r^P^'  "  "ow  vain  Zn  1 1 
How  should  he  love  a  thing  so  low?^ 

LX. 

If,  in  thy  second  state  sublime, 
Thy  ransom'd  reason  change  replies 
With  all  the  circle  of  the  wise, 

The  perfect  flower  of  human  time; 

And  if  thou  cast  thine  eyes  below, 
How  dimly  character'd  and  slight. 
How  dwarf  d  a  growth  of  cold  and  night, 

How  blanch'd  with  darkness  must  I  grow  1 

'^e' turn  thee  to  the  doubtful  shore, 
Where  thy  first  form  was  made  a  man  ; 
I  loved  thee,  Spirit,  and  love,  nor  can 

•ine  soul  of  Shakespeare  love  thee  more. 


/AT  MMMORIAAf. 


LXI. 

Tho'  if  an  eye  that 's  downward  cast 

Could  make  thee  somewhat  blench  or 
A  ^^1",.°^  n^y  love  an  idle  tale. 
And  fedmg  legend  of  the  past ; 

And  thou,  as  one  that  once  declined 
When  he  was  little  more  than  boy. 
Un  some  unworthy  heart  with  joy. 

But  lives  to  wed  an  equal  mind ; 

And  breathes  a  novel  world,  the  while 
His  other  passion  wholly  dies, 
Ur  in  the  hght  of  deeper  eyes 

is  matter  for  a  flying  smile. 

LXII. 

^"7  5'fy  for  a  horse  o'er-driveo, 
And  love  m  which  my  hound' has  part. 

In  its  assumptions  up  to"heavenr  " 

And  lam  so  much  more  than  these. 
As  thou,  perchance,  art  more  than  I. 
And  yet  I  spare  them  sympathy, 

And  I  would  set  their  pains  at  ease. 


So  mayst  thou  watch  me  where  I  weea 
As,  unto  vaster  motions  bound, 
1  he  circuits  of  thine  orbit  round 

A  higher  height,  a  deeper  deep. 

LXIII. 

Dost  thou  look  back  on  what  hath  been 
As  some  divinely  gifted  man,  '  ' 

Whose  life  m  low  estate  began 

And  on  a  simple  village  green  ; 

Who  breaks  his  birth's  invidious  bar. 


- —o  uuiii  s  luviaious  Dar. 

And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance, 
breasts  the  blows  of  circumstance. 


4  .^"Z.  ■""?'"''  "'?  u'ows  or  circii 
And  grapples  with  his  evil  star ; 


Who  makes  by  force  his  merit  known, 
And  lives  to  clutch  the  golden  keys, 

An^lJ?*""'!*  "L^'^'y  *'^'«'s  decrees. 
And  shape  the  whisper  of  the  throne  ; 

And  moving  up  from  high  to  higher. 
Becomes  on  Fortune's  crowning  slope 
The  pillar  ofa  people's  hope. 

The  centre  ofa  world's  desire  ; 

^ H^u**'^'  ?,V?  *  pensive  dream. 
When  all  his  active  powers  are  still. 
A  distant  dearness  in  the  hill, 

A  secret  sweetness  in  the  stream, 

The  limit  of  his  narrower  fate. 
While  yet  beside  its  vocal  springs 
He  Play'd  at  counsellors  and  kings. 

With  one  that  was  his  eariiest  matl? 

Who  ploughs  with  pain  his  native  lea 
And  reaps  the  labor  of  his  hands. 

..  iC  '"  *"e  furrow  musing  stands  : 
Uoes  my  old  fiiend  remember  me  ? " 

LXIV. 

Sweet  soul,  do  with  me  as  thou  wilt ; 
rail,        I  lujf  a  fancy  trouble-tost 

With  "  Love  's  too  precious  to  be  lost. 
A  httle  grain  shall  not  be  spilt." 

And  in  that  solace  can  I  sing, 
Till  out  of  painfiil  phase   wrought 

<5«K  if  ?    "'i*""^  "P,?  i'^PP'  thought, 
helf-balanced  on  a  lightsome  wing  : 

Since  we  deserved  the  name  of  friends. 
And  thine  effect  so  lives  in  me, 
A  part  of  mine  may  live  in  thee, 

And  move  thee  on  to  noble  entls. 

LXV. 

You  thought  my  heart  too  far  diseased ; 
You  wpnder  when  my  fancies  nla* 
1  o  iiiiU  ine  gay  among  the  gay. 

Like  one  with  any  trifle  pleased: 

^  WK^l^^  ''?  *'"*'=''  ^y  I'fe  was  crost. 
Which  makes  a  desert  in  the  mind. 
Has  made  me  kindly  with  my  kind 
I  And  like  to  him  whose  sight  Uloit; 


Whose  feet  are  guided  thro'  the  land. 
Whose  test  among  his  friends  is  free, 
Who  takes  the  children  on  his  knee. 

And  winds  their  curls  about  his  hand: 

He  plays  with  threads,  he  beats  his  chair 
*or  pastime,  dreaming  of  the  sky; 
His  inner  day  can  never  die, 

His  night  of  loss  is  always  thefc. 

LXVI. 

When  on  my  bed  the  moonlight  faUs, 
I  know  that  in  thy  place  of  rest, 
Hy  that  broad  water  of  the  west, 

ihere  comes  a  glory  on  the  walls : 

Thv  marble  bright  in  dark  appears. 
As  slowly  steals  a  silver  flame 
Along  the  letters  of  thy  name. 

And  o  er  the  number  of  thy  years. 

The  mystic  glory  swims  away  : 
From  off  my  bed  the  moonlight  dies : 
And,  c  psing  eaves  of  wearied  eyes. 

I  sleep  till  dusk  is  dipt  in  gray  : 

And  then  I  know  the  mist  is  drawn 

A  lucid  veil  from  coast  to  coast. 
T),    .  M  ''^^.dark  church,  like  a  ghost. 
Thy  tablet  glimmers  to  the  dawn. 


tN  MEMORIA:,r. 


"S 


my 


LXVII. 

When  in  the  down  I  sink  my  head. 
Sleep,    Death's   twin-brother,   times 

breath ; 
S'^^ggDeath's  twin-brother,  knows  not 

Nor  can  I  dream  of  thee  as  dead : 

I  yajk  as  ere  I  walk'd  forlorn, 

Anrf  ^11  i°"i!;  P^'h  w=«  fresh  with  dew, 
And  all  the  bugle  breezes  blew 
ReveiUde  to  the  breaking  morn. 

But  what  is  this  ?    I  turn  about, 
^nnd  a  trouble  in  thine  eye, 

■Mn,  ^i     "*!5^*  ""^  ^^^^  ^  ''"ow  not  why, 
Nor  can  my  dream  resolve  the  doubt : 

But  ere  the  lark  hath  left  the  lea 

i  wake,  and  I  discern  the  truth  ; 
TiT  .'?    .?  •'■oj'ble  of  my  youth 
Ihat  foolish  sleep  transfers  to  thee. 

LXVIII. 

Th^r  M°,  *''*.'*  ^°-"'''  ^^  Spring  no  more. 
The  «?^^'!"'*'^  ^"^1.^,"*  P"*^--  was  lost :     ' 
frost,       *"*  '^'"'  ^'"°'"=  ^"'^ 

They  chatt'er'd  trifles  at  the  door : 

I  wander'd  from  the  noisy  town. 

T  ;^"2  ..*  '*'?°^  w'"*  thorny  boughs  : 

I  wor«^h^  n"'"'  '•°>""'  "^y  brows, 
X  wore  them  like  a  civic  crown  : 

I  met  with  scoffs,  I  met  with  scorns 
rrom  youth  and  babe  and  hoary  hair» : 


They  eall'd  me  in  the  public  squares 
llie  fool  that  wears  a  crown  of  thorns  : 

They  eall'd  me  fool,  they  eall'd  me  child  • 
I  found  an  angel  of  the  night  ; 

wii     u?]*^®  "'^^  '°«'>  the  look  was  bright : 
He  look'd  upon  my  crown  and  smiledl 

He  reach'd  the  glory  of  a  hand, 
1  hat  seem'd  to  touch  it  into  leaf: 
ihe  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  grief- 

The  words  were  hard  to  understand.     ' 

LXIX. 

I  CANNOT  see  the  features  right, 
When  on  the  gloom  I  strive  to  paint 
Ihe  face  I  know  ;  the  hues  are  faint 

And  mix  with  hollow  masks  of  night ; 

Cloud-towers  by  ghostly  masons  wrought. 
A  gulf  that  ever  shuts  and  gapes, 
A  hand  that  points  and  palled  shapes 

In  shadowy  thoroughfares  of  thought ; 

And  crowds  that  stream  from  yawning  doors. 

And  shoals  of  pucker'd  faces  drive  ; 

Dark  bulks  that  tumble  half  alive. 
And  lazy  lengths  on  boundless  shores  : 

Till  all  at  once  beyond  the  will 

I  hear  a  wizard  music  roll. 

And  thro'  a  lattice  on  the  soul 
Looks  thy  fair  face  and  makes  it  still. 

LX7C 

^^a^^a'  '"'"^'"3"  thou  to  death  and  trance 
And  madness  thou  hast  forged  at  last 
A  night-long  Present  of  the  Past 

In  which  we  went  thro'  summer  France. 

Hadst  thou  such  credit  with  the  soul  ? 
1  nen  aring  an  opiate  trebly  strong. 
Th%   °"'","'^  blindfold  sense  of  wrong 
That  so  my  pleasure  may  be  whole  ; 

While  now  we  talk  as  once  we  talk'-l 
Uf  men  and  minds,  the  dust  of  change. 
Ihe  days  that  grow  to  something  otrinee. 

In  walking  as  of  old  we  walk'd 

Beside  the  river's  wooded  reach, 
Ihe  fortress,  and  the  mountain  ridge. 
Ihe  cataract  flashing  from  the  bridge. 

Ihe  breaker  breaking  on  the  beach 


LXXI. 

^'SBST  thou  thus,  dim  dawn,  again, 
Aiidhowlest,  issuing  out  of  night. 
An^'     blasts  that  blow  the  poplar  white. 
And  lash  with  storm  fh.--  streaming  panc? 

Day,  when  my  crown'd  estate  begun 
lo  pine  in  that  reverse  of  doom, 

AnJi  .  1  '  V?^u''''^  ^''"y  'i^'"?  bloom. 
And  blurr'd  the  splendor  of  the  sun ; 

^«?  "'Merest  in  the  dolorous  hour 
With  thy  quick  tears  that  mqke  the  rose 


f '■' 


ia6 


IN  ME  MORI  AM. 


Pull  sideways,  and  the  daisy  close 
Her  crimson  fringes  to  the  shower  ; 

Wlio  might'st  have  heaved  a  windlass  flame 
Up  tlie  deep  East,  or,  whispering,  play'd 
A  chequer-work  of  beam  and  shade 

Along  the  hills,  yet  looked  the  same, 

As  wan,  as  chill,  as  wild  as  now ; 
Day,  mark'd  as  with  some  hideous  crime 
When  the  dark  hand  struck  down  thro' 
time. 

And  cancell'd  nature's  be«  :  but  thou. 

Lift  as  thou  mayst  thy  burthen'd  brows 
Thro'   clouds   that   drench   the 
star, 


inomuig 


And  whirl  the  ungarner'd  sheaf  afar, 
And  sow  the  sky  with  flying  boughs. 

And  up  thy  vault  with  roaring  sound 
Climb  thy  thick  noon,  disastrous  day ; 
Touch  thy  dull  goal  of  joyless  gray. 

And  hide  thy  shame  beneath  the  ground. 

LXXII. 

So  many  worids,  so  much  to  do,  ' 
So  little  done,  such  things  to  be. 
How  know  I  what  had  need  of  thee. 

For  thou  wert  strong  as  thou  wert  true  ? 

The  fame  is  quench'd  that  I  foresaw. 
The  head  hath  miss'd  an  earthly  wreath  ; 
I  curse  not  nature,  no,  nor  deith ; 

For  nothing  is  that  errs  from  law. 

We  pass :  the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds  : 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 

In  endless  age  ?    It  rests  with  God. 

0  hollow  wraith  of  dying  fame. 
Fade  wholly,  while  the  soul  exults. 
And  self-infolds  the  large  results 

Of  force  that  would  have  forged  a  name. 

LXXIII. 

As  sometimes  in  a  dead  man's  face. 
To  those  that  watch  it  more  and  more, 
A  likeness,  hardly  seen  before. 

Comes  out—  to  some  one  of  his  race : 

So,  dearest,  now  thy  brows  are  cold, 
I  see  thee  what  thou  art,  and  know 
Thy  likeness  to  the  wise  below. 

Thy  kindred  with  the  great  of  old. 

But  there  is  more  than  I  can  see. 
And  what  I  see  I  leave  unsaid. 
Nor  speak  it,  knowing  Death  has  made 

His  darkness  Beautiful  with  thee. 

LXXIV. 

1  LEAVE  thy  praises  unexpress'd 
In  verse  that  brings  mvself  relief. 
And  by  the  measure  of  my  grief 

I  leave  thy  greatness  to  be  guesit'4 ; 


What  practice  howso'er  expert 
In  fitting  aptest  words  to  things, 
Or  voice  the  richest-toned  that  sings. 

Hath  power  to  give  thee  as  thou  wert  ? 

I  care  not  in  these  fading  days 
To  raise  a  cry  that  lasts  not  long. 
And  round  thee  with  the  breeze  of  sone 

To  stir  a  littl*dust  of  praise. 

Thy  leaf  has  perish'd  in  the  green, 
And,  while  we  breathe  beneath  the  sun, 
Ihe  worid  which  credits  what  is  done 

Is  cold  to  all  that  might  have  been. 

So  here  shall  silence  guard  thy  fame  ; 
But  somewhere,  out  of  human  view, 
Whate'er  thy  hands  are  set  to  do 

Is  wrought  with  tumult  of  acclaim. 

LXXV. 

Take  wings  of  fancy,  and  ascend. 
And  in  a  moment  set  thy  face 
Where  all  the  starry  heavens  of  space 

Are  sharpen'd  to  a  needle's  end; 

Take  wings  of  foresight ;  lighten  thro' 
The  secular  abyss  to  Come, 
And  lo,  thy  deepest  lays  Sre  dumb 

Before  the  mouldering  of  a  yew  ; 

And  if  the  matin  songs,  that  woke 
The  darkness  of  our  planet,  last. 
Thine  own  shall  wither  in  the  vast. 

Ere  half  the  lifetime  of  an  oak. 

Ere  these,  have  clothed  their  branchy  bowei» 
With  fifty  Mays,  thy  songs  are  vain  ; 
And  what  are  they  when  these  remain. 

The  rum'd  shells  of  hollow  towers? 

LXXVI. 

What  hope  is  here  for  modem  rhyme 
To  him  who  turns  a  musing  eye 
On  songs,  and  deeds,  and  lives,  that  lie 

Foreshorten'd  in  the  tract  of  time  ? 

These  mortal  lullabies  of  pain 
May  bind  a  book,  may  line  a  box, 
May  serve  to  curl  a  maiden's  locks ; 

Or  when  a  thousand  moons  shall  wane 

A  man  upon  a  stall  may  find. 
And,  passing,  turn  the  page  that  tells 
A  grief,  then  changed  to  something  else. 

Sung  by  a  long-forgotten  mind. 

But  wh!»t  of  that?  Mj;  darken'd  ways 
Shall  ring  with  music  all  the  same  ; 
To  breathe  my  loss  is  more  than  fame. 

To  utter  love  more  sweet  than  praise. 


Lxxvrr. 
Again  at  Christmis  did  we  weave 

The  holly  round  the  Christmas  hearth  ; 
A    J     '  '"*  *"°*  possess'd  the  earth, 

And  calmly  fell  our  Chrjstmas-evc ; 


)ert 
things, 
1  that  sings, 
thou  wert  ? 

ajrs 

lot  tovg, 
breeze  of  song 


^  green, 

ineath  the  sun, 
vhat  is  done 
'e  been. 

thy  fame ; 
man  view, 
;t  to  do 
cclaim. 


scend, 

face 

ens  of  space 

end; 

shten  thro' 

re  dumb 
rev/; 

:  woke 
t,  last, 
the  vast, 
ak. 

branchy  bowers 
1  are  vain  ; 
liese  remain 
owers? 


:rti  rhyme 
?eye 

lives,  that  lie 
time? 

n 

a  box, 
I's  locks: 
hall  wane 


e  that  tells 
mething  else, 
d. 

I'd  ways 
e  same  ; 
than  fame, 

1  praise. 


eave 

lias  hearth  ; 
le  eartli, 
i-ev« ; 


/^r  ME  MORI  AM. 


The  yule-clog  sparkled  keen  with  frost. 
No  wmg  of  wind  the  region  swept. 
But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 

The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost. 

As  in  the  winters  left  behind, 
Again  our  ancient  games  had  pla-e, 
The  mimic  picture's  breathing  grace. 

And  dance  and  song  and  hoodman-blind. 

Who  show'd  a  token  of  distress.' 
No  single  tear,  no  mark  of  pain  : 
O  sorrow,  then  can  sorrow  wane? 

O  grief,  can  grief  be  changed  to  less  ? 

0  last  regret,  regret  can  die ! 

No,  —  raixt  with  all  this  mystic  frame, 
Her  deep  relations  are  the  same. 
But  with  long  use  her  tears  are  dry. 

LXXVIII, 

"  More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me,"  — 
Let  this  not  vex  thee,  noble  heart  I 
I  know  thee  of  what  force  thou  art 

To  hold  the  costliest  love  in  fee. 

But  thou  and  I  are  one  in  kind. 
As  moulded  like  in  nature's  mint ; 
And  hill  and  wood  and  field  did  print 

The  same  sweet  forms  in  either  mind. 

For  us  the  same  cold  streamlet  ciiri'd 
Thro'  all  his  eddying  coves;  the  same 
All  winds  that  roam  the  twilight  came 

In  whispers  of  the  beauteous  world. 

At  one  dear  knee  we  proffer'd  vows. 
One  lesson  from  one  book  we  leam'd, 
Ere  childhood's  flaxen  ringlet  turn'd 

To  black  and  brown  on  kindred  brows. 

And  so  my  wealth  resembles  thine. 
But  he  was  rich  where  I  was  poor. 
And  he  supplied  my  want  the  more 

As  his  unhkeness  fitted  mine. 

LXXIX. 

I"  any  vague  desire  should  rise. 
That  holy  Death  ere  Arthur  died 
Had  moved  me  kindly  from  his   ide, 

And  dropt  the  dust  on  tearless  eyes ; 

Then  fancy  shapes,  as  fancy  can, 

1  he  grief  my  loss  in  him  had  wrought, 
A  grief  as  deep  as  life  or  thought, 

isut  stay  d  in  peace  with  God  and  man. 

I  make  a  picture  in  the  brain  ; 

I  hear  the  sentence  that  he  speaks ; 

He  bears  the  burthen  of  the  weeks  : 
Hut  turns  his  burthen  into  gain. 

^' A  *^j^'?''  ""■"  *''^"  "«*  "ie  free; 
And,  influence-rich  to  soothe  and  save, 
bnuscd  example  from  the  grave 

lv^.;cli  out  dead  hands  to  comfort  wc 


»«7 


LXXX. 

Could  I  have  said  while  he  was  here, 
"My  love  shall  now  no  further  range  ; 
There  cannot  come  a  mellower  change, 

*  or  now  13  love  mature  in  ear." 

Love,  then,  had  hope  of  richer  store  : 
What  end  is  here  to  my  complaint? 

.<  C,       "auntmg  whisper  makes  me  faint. 
More  years  had  made  me  love  thee  more." 

But  Death  returns  an  answer  sweet  • 
"  My  sudden  frost  was  sudden  gain. 
And  gave  all  ripeness  to  the  grain 

It  might  have  drawn  from  after-heat." 

LXXXI. 

I  WAGB  not  any  feud  with  Death 
For  changes  wrought  on  tbrm  and-fiTce  • 
No  lower  life  that  earth's  embrace 

May  breed  with  him  can  fright  my  faith. 

I  El    nal  process  moving  on, 

From  state  to  state  the  spirit  walks  ; 
And  these  are  but  the  shatter'd  stalks, 
'  f  ruin'd  chrysalis  of  one. 

Nor  blame  I  Death,  because  he  bare 
The  use  of  virtue  out  of  earth  : 
I  know  transplanted  human  worth 

Will  bloom  to  profit,  otherwhere. 

For  this  alone  on  Death  I  wreak 
The  wrath  that  gamers  in  my  heart; 
He  put  our  lives  so  far  apart 

We  cannot  hear  each  other  speak. 


Lxxxn. 

Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 
O  sweat  new-year,  delaying  long  : 
Ihou  doest  expectant  nature  wrong; 

Delaying  long,  delay  no  more. 

What  stays  thee  from  the  clouded  noons, 
Ihy  sweetness  from  its  proper  place? 
Can  trouble  live  with  April  days,  • 

Or  sadness  in  the  summer  moons  ? 

Bring  orchis,  bring  the  foxglove  spire, 
The  httle  speedwell's  darling  blue. 
Deep  tulips  dash'd  with  fiery  dew. 

Laburnums,  dropping- wells 'of  fire. 

O  thou,  new-year,  delaying  long, 
Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood. 
That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud, 

And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song. 

LXxxiii. 

When  I  contemplate  all  alone 
The  life  that  had  been  thine  below, 
And  fix  my  thoughts  on  all  the  glow 

To  which  thy  crescent  Would  have  grown  i 

I  see  thee  sitting  crown'd  with  good, 
A  central  warmth  diffusing  bliss 


138 


IN  MEMO RI AM. 


In  glance  and  smile,  and  cLsp  and  kiss, 
On  all  the  branches  of  thy  blood ; 

Tlur  blood,  my  friend,  and  partly  mi.  .  ; 
For  now  the  day  was  drawing  on 
When  thou  shouldst  link  thy  life  with  one 

Of  mine  own  house,  and  boys  of  thine 

Had  bai.,  'ed  "  Uncle  "  on  my  knee ; 
But  that  remorseless  iron  hour 
Made  cypress  of  her  orange-flower. 

Despair  of  Hope,  and  earth  of  thee. 

I  seem  to  meet  their  least  desire, 
To  clap  their  cheeks,  to  call  them  mine. 
I  see  their  unborn  faces  shine 

Beside  the  never-lighted  fire. 

I  see  myself  an  hono>  'd  guest. 
Thy  partner  in  the  flowery  walk 
Of  letters,  gen'al  table-talk. 

Or  deep  dispute,  and  graceful  jest ; 

While  now  thy  prosperous  labor  fills 
The  lips  of  men  with  honest  praise, 
And  sun  by  sun  the  happy  days 

Descend  below  the  golden  hills 

With  promise  of  a  mom  as  fair ; 
And  all  the  train  of  bounteous  hours 
Conduct  by  paths  of  growing  powers 

To  reverence  and  the  suver  hair ; 

Till  slowly  worn  her  earthly  robe. 
Her  lavish  mission  richly  wrought, 
Leaving  great  legacies  of  thought, 

Thy  spirit  should  lail  fi'om  off  the  globe  ; 

What  time  mine  ovim  might  also  flee. 
As  link'd  vfith  thine  in  love  and  fate. 
And,  hovering  o'er  the  dolorot<s  strait 

To  the  olher  shore,  involved  in  thee. 

Arrive  at  last  the  blessed  goal, 
And  He  that  died  in  Holy  Land 
Would  reach  us  out  the  shining  hand, 

And  take  us  as  a  single  soul. 

What  reed  was  that  on  which  I  leant? 
Ah,  back\yard  fancy,  wherefore  wake 
The  old  bitterness  a^in,  and  break 

The  low  beginnings  of^content  ? 


LXXXIV. 

This  truth  came  borne  with  bier  and  pall, 
1  felt  it,  when  I  sorrow'd  most, 
'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 

TI;an  never  to  have  loved  at  all 

O  true  in  word,  and  tried  in  deed, 
Demanding,  so  to  bring  relief 
''o  this  which  is  our  common  grief, 

What  kind  of  life  is  that  I  lead  ; 

A.id  whether  trust  in  things  above 
Be  dimm'd  of  sorrow  or  sustain'd  ; 
And  whether  love  for  him  have  drain'd 

My  capabilities  of  love ; 


Your  words  have  virtue  such  as  draws 
A  faithful  answer  from  the  breast. 
Thro'  light  reproaches,  half  exprest, 

And  loyal  unto  kindly  laws. 

My  blood  an  even  tenor  kept. 
Till  on  mine  ear  this  message  falls. 
That  in  Vienna's  fatal  walls 

God's  finger  touch'd  him,  and  he  slept. 

The  great  Intelligences  fair 
That  range  above  our  mortal  state. 
In  circle  round  the  blessed  gate. 

Received  and  gave  him  welcome  there ; 

And  led  him  thro'  the  blissful  climes. 
And  show'd  him  in  the  fountain  fresh 
All  knowledge  that  the  sons  of  flesh 

Shall  gather  in  the  cycled  times. 

But  I  remain'd,  whose  hopes  were  dim, 
Whose  life,  whose  thoughts  were   ]ittl6 

worth. 
To  wander  on  a  darken'd  earth. 

Where  all  things  round  me  breathed  of  him. 

O  friendship,  equal-poised  control, 
O  heart,  with  kindliest  motion  warm, 

0  sacred  essence,  other  form, 
O  solemn  ghost,  O  crowned  soul  1 

Yet  none  could  better  know  than  I, 
How  much  of  act  at  human  hands 
The  sense  of  human  will  demands, 

By  which  we  dare  to  live  or  die. 

Whatever  way  my  days  decline, 

1  felt  and  feel,  tho'  left  alone. 
His  being  working  in  mine  own, 

The  footsteps  of  his  life  in  mine  ; 

A  life  that  all  the  Muses  deck'd 
With  gif's  of  grace,  that  might  express 
All-comprehensive  tenden.ess, 

All-subtilizing  intellect : 

And  so  my  passion  hath  not  swerved 
To  works  of  weakness,  but  I  find 
An  image  comforting  the  mind, 

And  in  my  grief  a  strength  reserved. 

Likewise  the  imaginative  woe. 
That  loved  to  handle  spiritual  strife. 
Diffused  the  shock  thro'  all  my  life, 

But  in  the  present  broke  the  blow. 

Mv  pulses  therefore  beat  again 
For  other  friends  that  once  I  met ; 
Nor  can  it  suit  me  to  forget 

The  mighty  hopes  that  make  us  men, 

I  wr.o  y.-n;r  love :  I  count  it  crime 

To  mourn  for  any  overmuch  ; 

I,  the  divided  half  of  such 
A  friendship  as  had  master'd  Time  ; 

Which  masters  Time  indeed,  and  is 
Eternal,  separate  from  fears  : 


': 


ch  as  draws 
he  breast, 
half  exprest, 
i. 

:pt, 

ssage  falls, 

'alls 

ind  he  rlept 


orial  state, 
ed  gate, 
;lcome  there ; 

sful  climes, 
buntain  fresh 
ons  of  flesh 
jmes. 

les  were  dim, 
lights  were   littl» 

1  earth, 
breathed  of  him. 

control, 
lotion  warm, 
orni, 
1  soul  1 

'  than  I, 
an  hands 
demands, 
r  die. 

line, 
one, 
le  own, 
nine ; 

ck'd 

night  express 

T.ess, 


swerved 
It  I  find 
mind, 
■eserved. 

le, 

tual  strife, 
11  my  life, 
:  blow. 

lin 

!  I  met ; 

t 

:  us  men. 

:rime 
k; 

Time; 

and  is 

s ; 


/iV  ME  MORI  AM. 


The  all-assuming  months  and  years 
Can  take  no  part  away  from  this  ; 

But  Summer  on  the  steaming  floods. 
And  Spring  that  swells  the  narrow  brooks. 
And  Autumn,  with  a  noise  of  rooks, 

That  gather  in  the  waning  woods. 

And  every  pulse  of  wind  and  wa"~ 
Recalls,  in  change  of  light  or  gloom, 
My  old  affection  of  the  tomb. 

And  my  prime  passion  iu  the  grave : 

My  old  aflFection  of  the  tomb, 
A  part  of  stillness,  yearns  to  speak  : 
"  Arise,  and  £et  thee  forth  and  seek 

A  friendship  for  the  years  to  come. 

"  I  watch  thee  from  the  quiet  shore ; 

Thy  spirit  up  to  mine  can  reach  ; 

But  in  dear  words  of  human  speech 
We  two  communicate  no  more." 

And  I,  "  Can  clouds  of  nature  stain 
The  starry  clearness  of  the  free  ? 
How  is  it  ?    Canst  thou  feel  for  me 

Some  painless  sympathy  with  pain  ? " 

And  lightly  does  the  whisper  fall : 
'■  'T  IS  hard  for  thee  to  fathom  this  : 
I  tnumph  in  conclusive  bliss, 

And  that  serene  result  of  all." 

So  hold  I  commerce  with  the  dead ; 

Or  so  methinks  \he  dead  would  say ; 

Or  so  shall  grief  with  symbols  play. 
And  pming  life  be  fancy-fed. 

Now  looking  to  some  settled  end. 
That  these  things  pass,  and  I  shall  prov« 
A  meetmg  somewhere,  love  with  love, 

I  crave  your  pardon,  O  my  friend ; 

If  not  so  fresh,  with  love  as  true, 

I,  clasping  brother-hands,  aver 

I  could  not,  if  I  would,  transfer 
Ihe  whole  I  felt  for  him  to  you. 

For  which  be  they  that  hold  apart 
The  promise  of  the  golden  hours? 
First  love,  first  friendship,  equal  powers, 

That  marry  with  the  virgin  heart. 

S'jll  mine,  that  cannot  but  deplore, 
1  hat  beats  within  a  lonely  place, 
Ihat  yet  remembers  his  embrace, 

Uut  at  his  footstep  leaps  no  more. 


»*9 


My  heart,  tho'  widow'd,  may  not  rest 
Quite  in  the  I.r,ve  of  what  h  gone, 
But  seeks  to  beat  in  time  with  one 

Ihat  warms  another  living  breast. 

Ah,  take  the  imperfect  gift  I  bring. 
Knowing  the  primrose  yet  is  dear, 
Ihe  primrose  of  the  later  year. 

As  not  unlike  to  that  of  Spring. 


LXXXV. 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air. 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 

And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
rhro  all  the  dewy-tassell'd  wood. 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

In  npples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 

The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 
1  he  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Ihroughout   my   frame,  till   Doubt   and 
Death, 

111  brethren  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 
On  leagues  of  odor  streaming  far, 
To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 

A  hundred  spirits  whi?per  "  Peace." 

LXXXVI. 

I  PAST  beside  the  reverend  walls 
In. which  of  old  I  wore  the  gown  ; 
I  roved  av  random  thro'  the  town. 

And  saw  the  tumult  of  the  halls; 

And  heard  once  more  in  college  fanes 
The  storm  their  high-built  organs  make. 
And  tliunder-music,  rolling,  shake 

The  prophets  blazon'd  on  the  panes ; 

And  caught  once  more  the  distant  shout, 
Ihe  treasured  pulse  of  racing  oars 
Among  the  willows  ;  paced  the  shot«s 

And  many  a  bridge,  and  all  about 

TI^  same  gray  flats  again,  and  felt 
1  he  same,  but  not  the  same  ;  and  last 
Up  that  long  walk  of  limes  I  past 

lo  see  the  rooms  in  which  he  dwelt. 

Another  name  was  on  the  door  : 
I  liuger'd ;  all  within  was  noise 
Of  songs,  and  clapping  hands,  and  boys 

Ihatcrash'd  the  glass  and  beat  the  floor  ; 

Where  once  we  held  debate,  a  band 
Of  youthful  friends,  on  mind  and  art. 
And  labor,  and  the  changing  mart. 

And  all  the  framework  of  the  land  ; 

When  one  would  aim  an  arrow  fair. 
But  send  it  slackly  from  the  string ; 
And  one  would  pierce  an  outer  ring. 

And  one  an  inner,  here  and  there ; 


And  last  the  master-bowman,  he 
Would  cleave  the  mark.     A  willing  ear 
We  lent  htm.    Who,  but  hung  to  hear 

The  rapt  oration  flowing  fiee 

From  point  to  point,  with  power  and  grace 
And  music  in  the  bounds  of  law. 
To  those  conclusions  when  we  saw 

The  God  within  him  light  his  face, 


I 


»30 

And  seem  to  lift  the  form,  and  riow 
In  azure  orbits  heavenly-wise  • 
And  over  those  ethereal  eyes  ' 

The  bar  of  Michael  Angeld. 

LXXXVII. 

Wild  bird  whose  warble,  liquid  sweet 
^'"?f  Eden  thro-  the  budaed  qulkS 
rw.i      *"«  "here  the  senses  mix,     ^ 
U  tell  me  where  the  passions  meet, 

Whence  radiate  :  fierce  extremes  employ 
Ihy  spirits  m  the  darkening  leaf,  ^ 
And  in  the  midmost  heart  of  grief 

1  hy  passion  clasps  a  secret  joy  : 

And  I  — my  harp  would  prelude  woe- 
,  4^^"",°*  all  command  the  strings : 

J  The  glory  of  the  sum  of  things 

I  j  Will  fla^  ,  along  the  chords  and  go. 

i  > 

Lxxxvm. 

n'^'^.K•^fl'"^"'^'  counterchange  the  floor 
Of  Jh's  flat  lawn  with  dusk  and  brigh?- 
And  thou,  with  all  thy  breadth  and  heijrht 
Of  foliage,  towering  sycamore  ;  ^ 

"m  "('"u'  '''i'^^'"  wandering  down. 

^^y  Arthur  found  your  shidows  feir, 
Ti,    f  ^^°°\  f-  ^"  *^«  liberal  air 
The  dust  and  dm  and  steam  of  town  : 

He  brought  an  eye  for  all  he  saw  ; 
He  mixt  in  all  our  simple  sports ; 

cdu?ts  '   ^"''   fr°'"»l'roiling 

And  dusty  puriieus  of  the  law. 

O  joy  to  him  in  this  retreat, 
Iramantled  in  ambrosial  dark, 
To  drink  the  cooler  air,  and  mark 

ihe  landscape  winking  thro'  the  heat: 

O  sound  to  rout  the  brood  of  cares. 
The  sweep  of  scythe  in  morning  dew, 
The  gust  that  round  the  garden  flew 

And  tumbled  half  the  mellowing  pea^s  1 

O  ^I'ss.  when  all  in  circle  drawn 
About  him,  hearf  and  ear  were  fed 
To  hear  him.  as  he  lay  and  read 

ine  luscan  poet  on  the  lawn  : 


/AT  ME  MORI  AM. 


Or  in  the  all-golden  afternoon 
A  guest,  or  happy  sister,  sung, 

A  ba'uan'.o^h  ¥^«u^'  *■?•=  ''^'T  and  flung 
A  ballad  to  the  brightening  moon  : 

Nor  less  it  pleased  in  livelier  moods. 
Beyond  the  bounding  hill  to  stra^ 

W^Hl^r-'?.'*-/^'  r^'r^  ^"""""  day 
"'■"inci  hi  tiic  distant  woods  ; 

^teLM'A''"i5'1  '■'■°'"  ♦'i'='"e  to  theme, 
Discuss  dtlie  books  to  love  or  hate, 

Or  /v.'°"5*'j''  "■*  '='»n8es  of  the  state 
Or  threaded  some  SocFatic  dr-nm  • 


But  if  I  praised  the  busy  town, 
He  loved  to  rail  against  it  still. 
For     ground  in  vonder  social  mill. 

We  rub  each  other's  angles  down, 

"And  merge,"  he  said,  "  in  form  and  kIoss 

wl^t^lkrZ"  f  '"""u^"''  •"»"•' 
we  talk  d :  the  stream  beneath  us  ran 
The  wine-flask  lying  couch'd  in  mo^     ' 

°  An°H -f  »'*'"l'"  '^''  glooming  wave ; 
And  ast  returning  from  afar, 

HaH  foif.  t''.* ."''"son-circled  star 
Had  fall'n  into  her  father's  grave, 

And  brushing  ankle-deep  in  flowers, 

Th     "^^  r^'^^  ""=  woodbine  Veil 
An^  K  ""  "^  ""at  bubbled  in  the  pail. 
And  buzzmgs  of  the  honeyed  hours. 

LXXXIX. 

Hb  tasted  love  with  half  his  mind. 
Nor  ever  drank  the  inviolate  spring 

ThU  h;»f  "'^''!?'  '"'^^^"'  "''o  first  could  fling 
^  I  his  bitter  seed  among  mankind  ;  ** 

That  could  the  dead,  whose  dving  eyes 
Were  closed  with  wail,  resu,   e  thel  life. 

An  fro^  Zm^^  ^"*  ^u"'^  '".'^''"''  and  wife   ' 
An  iron  welcome  when  they  rise : 

'  Vo^ti^S"'  lu'^"^' .';''«"  warm  with  wine, 
Tn  f  fi?ff  *•"=";  "■'*''  ^  ''■'"lly  tear,  ' 

Tn  .„    '^u'^"  °  "■■'  to  wish  them  here. 
To  count  their  memories  half  divine ; 

^  n  u  they  came  who  passed  away. 

Behold  their  brides  fn  other  hands  ; 
A  ^^n '■•^  heir  strides  about  their  lands. 
And  will  not  yield  them  for  a  day.         ^ 

Yea,  tho'  their  sons  were  none  of  these 
Not  less  the  yet-loved  sire  would  mke 
Confusion  worse  than  death,  and  shake 

The  pillars  of  domestic  peace. 

Ah  dear,  but  come  thou  back  to  me  : 
S^^V  «=hange  the  years  have  wrought 
I  find  not  yet  one  lonely  thought 

Ihat  cries  against  my  wish  for  thee. 

xc. 
When  rosy  plumelets  tuft  the  larch. 

And  rarely  pipes  the  mounted  thrush: 

Or  underneath  the  barren  bush 
*lits  by  the  sea-blue  bird  of  March  ; 

Come,  wear  the  form  by  which  I  know 

rll  hSpl'i^'  .••_"!L^_'?°1F.thj  peers ; 
— i-t~  ..I  .iimtcunipiisn  d  years 
Be  large  and  lucid  round  thy  brow. 

^mJII"""";^ '*  hourly-mellowing  change 
May  breathe,  with  many  roses  fweet 

1  hat  npple  round  the  lonely  grange  • 


i 


sy  town, 

ist  it  still, 
ler  social  mill, 
gles  down, 

"  in  form  and  gloss 
an  and  man." 
n  beneath  us  ran, 
ich'd  in  moss, 

oming  wave ; 
)m  afar, 
clad  star 
r's  grave, 

p  in  flowers, 
woodbine  veil 
in  the  pail, 
eyed  hours. 


'his  mind, 
'iolate  spring 
who  first  could  fling 
lankind ; 

ise  dying  eyes 
resu,   e  thei.  life, 
chila  and  wife 
ey  rise : 

1  warm  with  wine, 
kindly  tear, 
ish  them  here, 
balf  divine ; 

ied  away, 
ther  hands  ; 
out  their  lands, 
r  a  day. 

lone  of  these, 
ire  would  maka 
ith,  and  shake 
ace. 

ck  to  me : 

irs  have  wrought^ 

thought 

for  tliee. 


the  larch, 
nted  thrush; 
1  bush 
f  March ; 

ich  I  know 
thy  peers ; 
h'd  years 
r  brow. 

lowing  change 
OSes  sweet, 
of  Vfiicat, 
grange ; 


a 


f 

if 


Come  :  not  m  watches  of  the  night. 

But  where  the  sunbeam  broodttli  warm 
A  STu  '  ''«"*««""'"  thine  after  form!  ' 
And  like  a  finer  light  in  light. 

xci. 
If  any  vision  should  reveal 

Thy  likeness,  I  might  count  it  vain. 

As  but  the  canker  of  the  brain  • 
Vea,  tho'  it  spake  and  made  appeal 

To  chances  where  our  lots  were  cast 
Xogether  m  the  days  behind 
I  might  but  say,  I  hear  a  wind 

Vt  memory  murmuring  th  -  past. 

Yea,  tho'  it  spake  and  bared  to  view 
A  fact  within  the  coming  year  ; 
And  tho  the  months,  revolving  near. 

Should  prove  the  phantom-warning  true, 

They  might  not  seem  thy  prophecies, 

But  spiritual  presentiments. 

And  such  refraction  of  events 
As  often  rises  ere  they  rise. 

XCI'.. 

I  SHALL  not  see  thee.    Dare  I  say 
No  sp-ritt/er  brake  the  band 
JLhat  iiays  him  from  the  native  land. 

Where  first  he  walk'd  when  claspt  in  clay? 

No  visual  shade  of  some  one  lost. 

yvh  're  all  the  nerve  of  sense  is  numb  • 
Spirit  .0  Spirit,  Ghost  to  Ghost.  ' 

°'w;fh''°l?  ^'■°'"  ^^y  sightless  range 

With  gods  m  unconjectured  bliss 
nrV.  ?  M  ""^  d'f.'ance  of  the  abyss 
Of  tenfold-complicated  change, 

Dwcend,  and  touch,  and  enter;  hear 
The  wish  too  strong  for  words  to  name  • 
That  in  this  blindness  of  the  frame       ' 

My  Ghost  may  feel  that  thine  is  nwr. 

XCIII. 

wJ^""";  *'  ^?*.«  a"d  sound  in  head 
^„  J'l^'  '^i.^'""  aflfections  bold. 
Should^be  the  man  whose  thought  would 
An  hour's  communion  with  the  dead. 


■W  MEMOR/AAf. 


S3I 


In  vain  Shalt  thou,  or  any,  call 
The  spirits  from  their  golden  dav 

•n»y  spint  is  at  peace  with  all.  ' 

They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast 
Imaginations  calm  and  fair  ^''**' 

The  rnirc'v''''y  "''=  =»  cloudless  air, 
1  he  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest: 

And  do.bt  beside  the  portal  wkita, 

Anh^  ".1*"i*  ""*«"  at  the  gates, 
And  hear  the  household  jar  ^thin. 


By  night  we  linger'd  on" the  lawn. 
For  underfoot  the  herb  was  dn?: 
And  genial  warmth ;  and  o'er  the  skv 
I  The  silvery  haze  of  summer  drawn;  ^ 

And  calm  that  let  the  tapers  bum       . 

Th7hr''l"«,=  ""',*  "'^ket  chirr'd: 
1  he  brook  alone  far-off  was  heard. 

And  on  the  board  the  fluttrringS™: 

^^^  ^ats  went  round  in  fragrant  skies. 
And  wheel'd  or  lit  the  filmy  shapes^ 
An^'*'  ^a"nt  the  dusk,  with  ermine  caoe. 
And  woolly  breasts  and  beaded  eyes  • 

^FrnmT ^u  "^"f  °^^  «'<»'g»  that  peal'd 
Fromjcuoll  to  ^noU,  wSere,  couch'd  at 

The  white  kine  glimmer'd,  and  the  treen 
Laid  their  dark  arms  about  the  field! 

^  w^'l!S"  '^°,'''  °'''?'^  <"«  by  one. 
Withdrew  them..elves  from  me  and  night. 
And  in  the  ho;,!,e  light  after  light       ^^ 

Went  out,  and  I  was  all  alone, 

I  "^of  Ti;  '?'^i^  '"y  !?«=rt;  I  read 

Of  that  glr.d  year  that  once  had  been, 
I      In  those  falf'n  leaves  which  kept  their 

The  noble  letters  of  the  dead  : 

And  strangely  on  the  silence  broke 
The  silent-speaking  words,  and  strange 

To  t«f  hi?  '  ^T^  "y  '^^'ying  change^ 
To  test  his  worth ;  and  strangely  spole 

^/*J"''u"'' J'S°''>  ''°W  to  dwell 
On  doubts  that  drive  the  coward  back. 
And  keen  thro'  wordy  snare"  to  tradT 

Suggestion  to  her  inmost  cell 

^  tY,"'^  I'y  word,  and  line  by  line, 

aIa  fi?'^.'"*"  '.°"<='^''' »"«  from  the  past. 
And  all  at  once  it  seem'd  at  last  ^ 

His  Imng  soul  was  flash'd  on  mine, 

^  A^J,!!^'?*  *"  '''*  "T^*  )^ound,  and  whirl'd 
About  empyreal  heights  of  thought. 
And  came  on  that  which  is,  and  caught 

The  deep  pulsations  of  the  world" 

.(Eonian  music  measuring  out 
1  he  steps  of  Time,  the  shocks  of  Chance 
1  he  blows  of  Death.    At  length  my  tranS 

Was  cancell'd.  stricken  thro'  with  d^ub" 

Vague  words  !  but  ah,  how  hard  to  frame 
In  matter-moulded  forms  of  soeech^ 
•Jr  cv  n  ror  liiteiiect  to  reach  " 

Ihro  memory  that  which  I  became  : 

Tin  now  the  doubtful  dusk  reveal'd 
ine  knoll  once  more  where,  couch'd  at 

CaSCj 

T  JJ?!."?''!?  H'"®  K'imtner'd,  and  the  treea 
Laid  thei.  dark  arms  about  the  field? 


Ilfl 


IS* 

And,  guck'd  from  out  the  distant  rioom 

A  breeze  began  to  tremble  o'er  ' 

A   J  I  '"■*''  '"^"  "'■'he  sycamore 

And  fluctuate  all  the  still  perfume?' 

And  gathering  freshlier  overhead. 

The  lihes  to  and  fro,  and  said,       ^^ 

"The  dawn,  the  dawn,"  and  died  awav  • 
And  East  and  West,  without  a  brra»^' 
Urn  their  dim  lights,  like  lift  and  death 

To  broaden  into  boundless  day  ' 

xcv. 

You  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn 
S'lef-hearted.  you,  whose  liK'lue  eve. 
Are  ender  over  drowning  flies  ^ 

You  tell  me.  doubt  is  Devif-bora 


/A^  MB  MORI  AM. 


Her  hfe  „  Jone,  he  sits  apart, 
He  loves  her  yet,  she  will  not  weeo. 
rho  rapt  in  matters  dark  and  dHS" 

He  seems  to  .light  her  simple  heart!*^ 

He  reads  the  secret  of  the  star,  ^ 
He  seems  so  near  and  yet  so  far 
He  looks  ^  cold :  she  thinks  him  kind. 


I  know  not :  one  indf  ^ 
In  many  a  subtle  i 
Who  touch'd  a  jar 

But  ever  strove  to  m 


I  knew 
•ion  versed, 
'yre  at  first, 
t  true; 


He  fought  his  doubts  and  gather'd  stren^h 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  &' 
,  ««/?«d  the  spectres  o^he^mind  ' 

And  laid  them :  thus  he  came  aTlength 

^''k'^Ai  '*'°"8er  faith  his  own  ; 
And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  nieht 

AUK  .  .1'^"*'  '"^'^e  their  gods  of  cold 
Altho'  the  trumpet  blew  so  loud     ^     ' 

XCVI. 

**«!"«'  ^^  *'''H'd  with  rocks  and  tree.  • 
Sf  fi"«  "n  misty  mountain-ground  ' 
His  ovvn  vast  shadow  glory-crown'd- 

He  see.  himself  in  all  hi  sees.  ' 

^  n^l'S""  °/  »  r^whtA  life,  - 

in  vastness  and  m  mystery. 
And  of  my  gp.nt  a.  of  a  wife. 

'^'h^e.two-they  dwelt  with  eye  on  eve 
Iheir  hearts  of  old  have  beat  in  tune 

Thet'"'  """""e?  "'•■'de  December  June 
1  heir  every  parting  was  to  die.       •'""*■ 

Their  love  has  never  pa.t  away  ; 

[he  day.  she  never  can  forget 

Are  earnest  that  he  loves  her  vet 
Whate'er  the  faithless  pwple  m]^?*' 


^Op'ZfH  P'^y*'  *°  him  she  sings 
Of  early  faith  and  plighted  vows 

Anrf  LK°*?  ''"'  """""s  of  the  house 
And  he,  he  knows  a  thousand  things!  ' 

"shl^daril  ^f  ?"d  cannot  move, 
cu    ^,,y  '^e's  him  great  and  wise 

..  i^^' ''^'="»  °n  him  with  faithfuUyes' 
I  cannot  understand:  I  love."  ' 

XCVII. 

^°a"  !f  *?'  "*  •  y°^  will  set  ihe  Rhin^ 
And  those  failr  hills  I  sail'd  below    ' 
rJ!^"  ^  was  there  with  him  ;  and  ko 
By  summer  belts  of  wheat  and  vine  ^ 

That  City.    All  her  splendor  seerns 
On  T  It''-'"'  l''»"  »he  wisp  that  gleTms 
On  Lethe  m  the  eyes  of  Death. 

Let  her  p-eat  Danube  rolling  fair 

tnwind  her  isles,  unmark'd  of  me  • 
Vii    "''*  "°' seen.  I  will  not  see 
Vienna ;  rather  dream  that  there, 

^-l^'^u'^f'"?''*'  Evil  haunts 
The  birth,  tl>-  bndal ;  friend  from  friend 
Isoftenerp,     nd,  fathers  bend   "'"'"" 

Above  more  graves,  a  thousand  wants 

Gnarr  at  the  heels  of  men,  and  prey 

S^r*?h^/°'''  ^'"^l\?"^  sadness  flings 
Her  shadow  on  the  blaze  of  kings  • 
And  yet  myself  have  heard  him  say! 

■''Ij'*  "ot  in  any  mother  town 
With  statelier  progress  to  and  fro 

Rv  i.  t°"''J"  '1*^"  of  chariots  flow 
ny  park  and  suburb  under  brown 

^hI'I'm '"''',? :  "°'' «»« content. 

wLS^ir'"^''^''i«"y"°wd','' 

w-J? "  ^\'s  ?9y  w.th  lamps,  and  loud 
•• !".  spv.t  ana  song,  i,,  booth  and  tent, 

I  ^T"'al  halls,  or  open  plain ; 
I  Of  snmson  or  in  emerald  rainr^ 


apart, 

will  not  weep, 
iark  and  deep 
simple  heart. 

of  the  mind, 

the  star, 
,  yet  so  far, 
iiinKs  him  kind. 

irs  before, 
r  bliss; 

is  greatness  is : 
5s  "^m  more. 

n  she  sings 
hted  vows ; 
I  of  the  house, 
isand  things. 

lot  move, 
reat  and  wise, 
I  faithful  eyes, 
love." 


«■  the  Rhine, 
II I'd  below, 
him ;  and  go 
t  and  vine 

latest  bieath. 
;ndor  seems 
p  that  gleams 
eath. 

ng  fair 
k'd  of  me : 
ot  see 
t  there, 

iints 

iend  from  friend 
bend 
sand  wants 

Jnd  prey 
sadness  flings 
of  kings : 
him  say, 

a 

and  fro 

Its  flow 


:ontcnt, 
rowd, 

5,  and  loud 
h  and  tent, 


ce,  and  breaks 
es 


/AT  ME  MORI  AM. 


XCVIII. 

RiSBST  thou  thus,  dim  dawn,  again. 
So  loud  with  voices  of  the  birds, 
So  thick  with  lowings  of  the  herds. 

Day,  when  I  lost  the  flower  of  men  ; 

Who  tremblest  thro'  thy  darkling  red 
On  yon  swoll'n  brook  that  bubbles  fast 
By  meadows  breathing  of  the  past. 

And  woodlands  holy  to  the  dead ; 

Who  murmurest  in  the  foliaged  eaves 
A  song  that  slights  the  coming  care. 
And  Autumn  laying  here  and  there 

A  liery  finger  on  the  leaves ; 

Who  wakenest  with  thy  balmy  breath, 
lo  myriads  on  the  genial  earth. 
Memories  of  bridal^  or  of  birth. 

And  unto  myriads  more,  of  death. 

O,  wheresoever  those  may  be, 
Betwixt  the  slumber  of  the  poles, 

'PI       ,  ^5'  '''^y  "^"""^  *s  kindred  souls ; 
iney  know  me  not,  but  mourn  with  me. 

xcix. 

I  ci.iMB  the  hill :  from  end  to  end 
Of  all  the  landscape  underneath, 
1  find  no  place  that  does  not  breathe 

Ssome  gracious  memory  of  my  friend ; 

No  gray  old  grange,  or  lonely  fold. 
Or  low  morass  and  whispering  reed. 
Or  simple  stile  from  mead  to  mead. 

Or  sheepwalk  up  the  windy  wold ; 

No  hoary  knoll  of  ash  and  haw 
I  hat  hears  the  latest  linnet  trill, 
Nor  quarry  trench'd  along  the  hill, 

And  haunted  by  the  wranghng  daw ; 

Nor  runlet  tinkling  from  the  rock ; 
Nor  pastoral  rivulet  that  swerves 
To  left  and  right  thro"  meadowy  curves. 

1  hat  feed  the  mothers  of  the  flock ; 

But  each  has  pleased  a  kindred  eye. 
And  each  reflects  a  kindlier  day  ; 
And,  leaving  these,  to  pass  away, 

1  think  once  more  he  seems  to  die. 


130 


Unwatch'd,  the  garden  bough  shall  sway, 
The  tender  blossom  flutter  down. 
Unloved,  that  beech  will  gather  brown, 

1  his  maple  bum  itself  away ; 

Unloved,  the  sun-flower,  shining  fair, 
Kay  round  with  flames  h»>r  A\%  nf  ,o»d. 
Aim  many  a  rose-carnation  feed 

With  summer  spice  the  humming  air  ; 

Unloved,  bv  many  a  sandy  bar, 
The  broolc  shall  babble  down  the  plain. 
At  noon,  or  when  the  lesser  wain 

Is  twisting  round  the  polar  star  • 


Uncared  for,  gird  rtie  windy  grore, 
And  flood  the  haunts  of  hem  and  crake : 
Ur  into  silver  arrows  break 

The  sailing  moon  in  creek  and  cove; 

Till  from  the  garden  and  the  wild 

A  fresh  association  blow, 

And  year  by  year  the  landscape  ^ow, 
Familiar  to  the  stranger's  child ; 

As  year  by  year  the  laborer  tills 
His  wonted  glebe,  or  lops  the  glades  ; 
And  year  by  year  our  memory  fades 

From  all  the  circle  of  the  hills. 


cr. 
^.^ 'eave  the  well-beloved  place 

Where  first  we  ewzed  upon  the  sky; 

1  he  roofs,  that  heard  our  earliest  cry. 
Will  shelter  one  of  stranger  race. 

We  go,  but  ere  we  go  from  home. 

As  down  the  garden-walks  I  move. 

1  wo  spirits  Ota  diverse  love 
Contend  for  loving  masterdom. 

One  whispers,  here  thy  boyhood  sung 
Long  since  its  matin  song,  ind  heard 
1  he  low  love-language  of  the  bird 

In  native  hazels  tassel-hung. 

The  other  answers,  "  Yea,  but  here 

Thy  feet  have  strayed  in  after  hours 
A    J '  L  •  'v  '°*'  ii\tn6.  among  the  bowers. 
And  this  hath  made  them  trebly  dear." 

These  two  have  striven  half  the  day. 
And  each  prefers  his  separate  claim. 
Poor  rivals  iii  a  losing  game, 

Ihat  will  not  yield  each  other  way. 

I  turn  to  go :  my  feet  are  set 
To  leave  the  pleasant  fields  and  farms  • 
1  hey  mix  m  one  another's  arms 

10  one  pure  image  of  regret 

CII. 

On  that  last  night  before  we  went 

From  out  the  doors  where  I  was  bred, 
Mru-  l??"i!  °  *  ^'*'°"  of  the  dead. 
Which  left  my  after-mom  content. 

Methought  I  dwelt  within  a  hall. 
And  maidens  with  me  :  distant  hills 
!•  rom  hidden  summits  fed  with  rills 

A  nver  sliding  by  the  wall. 

Tl^  hall  with  harp  and  carol  rang. 
They  sang  of  what  is  wise  and  good 
And  graceful.     In  the  centre  stood 

A  statue  veil'd,  to  which  they  sang ; 

And  which,  tho'  veil'd,  was  known  to  me. 

The  shape  of  him  I  loved,  and  love 

Forever :  then  flew  in  a  dove 
And  brought  a  summons  from  the  sea: 


134 


And  when  they  learnt  that  I  must  go, 
1  hey  wept  and  wailo,  but  led  the  way 
To  where  a  little  shallop  lay 

At  anchor  io  the  flood  below  ; 

And  on  by  manv  a  level  mead, 
And  shadowing  bluff  that  made  the  banks, 
We  glided  wmdmg  under  ranks 

Of  iris,  and  the  golden  reed  ; 

■'^"a''  j '"  m  ^^^'^  K^ew  the  shore, 
And  roll  d  the  floods  in  grander  space, 
1  he  maidens  gather'd  strength  and  grace 

And  presence,  lordlier  thu:.  before  ; 

And  I  myself,  who  sat  apart 

w' u'!'.*"''l'^  them  wax'd  in  every  limb; 
I  feltthethewsofAnakim, 
Ihe  pulses  of  a  Titan's  heart ; 

As  one  would  sing  the  death  of  war, 
And  one  would  chant  the  history 
Of  that  great  race,  which  is  to  be, 

And  one  the  shaping  of  a  star; 

Until  the  forward-creeping  tides 
Began  to  foam,  and  we  to  draw, 
t  rom  deep  to  deep,  to  where  we  saw 

A  great  ship  lift  her  shining  sides. 

The  man  we  loved  was  there  on  deck 
But  thrice  as  large  as  man  he  bent 
To  greet  us.    Up  the  side  I  went, 

And  fell  m  silence  on  his  neck  : 

Whereat  those  maidens  with  one  mind 
Bewail'd  their  lot;  I  did  them  wro^g: 
We  served  thee  here,"  they  said.  " 
long,  ' 

And  wilt  thou  leave  us  now  behind?  " 


/TV  AISAfORIAM. 


ctv. 

This  holly  by  the  C(.iiage-eave, 

lo-night,  ungather'd,  shall  it  stand: 
We  live  within  the  stranger's  land. 

And  strangely  tails  our  Christmas-eve, 

Our  father's  dust  is  left  alone 
And  silent  under  other  snows : 

Th    "'i '?  ^"'  '■"?*  ^^^  woodbine  blows. 
The  violet  comes,  but  we  are  gone. 

No  more  shall  wayward  grief  abuse 
Ihe  genial  hour  v.  ,;,  mask  and  mime  • 
For  change  of  plate,  like  growth  of  time 

Has  broke  the  bond  of  dying  use.  ' 

Let  cares  that  petty  shadows  cast. 
By  winch  our  lives  are  chiefly  proved, 

And  hold  11  solemn  to  the  past. 

But  let  no  footstep  beat  the  floor. 

Nor  bowl  of  wassail  mantle  warm  ; 
TkI^'  ^)'.°^°"'d  keep  an  ancient  form 
Thro  which  the  spirit  breathes  no  more? 

Be  neither  song,  nor  game,  nor  feast ; 

Nor  harp  be  touch'd,  nor  flute  be  blown  ; 
\xTu     .•^'?'^^'  "°  motion,  save  alone 
What  lightens  in  the  lucid  east 

Of  rising  worlds  by  yonder  wood. 
Long  sleeps  the  summer  in  the  seed  • 
Kun  out  your  measured  arcs,  and  lead 

ihe  closing  cycle  nch  in  good. 

cv. 


£0 


So  rapt  I  was,  they  could  not  win 
An  answer  from  my  lips,  but  he 
Replying,  "  Enter  likewise  ye 

And  go  with  us  "  :  they  enterM  in. 

And  while  the  wind  began  to  sweep 
A  music  out  of  sheet  and  shroud; 

-ri,  .*i"^i,-  '^  ^V  *°**'''^  a  crimson  cloud 
Ihat  landhke  slept  along  the  deep. 

ciir. 
The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ: 

Ihe  moon  is  hid.  the  night  is  still; 

A  single  church  below  the  hill 
Is  peahng,  folded  in  the  mist. 

A  single  peal  of  bells  below, 
That  wakens  at  this  hour  of  rest 
A  single  murmur  in  the  breast, 

i  hat  these  are  not  the  bells  I  kncv.'. 

Like  strangere'  voices  here  they  sound, 
in  lands  where  not  a  memory  strays. 
Nor  landmark  breathes  of  other  days,   " 

cut  all  IS  new  unhallow'd  ground. 


n^P  out  Wild  bells  to  the  wild  sky, 
1  he  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light : 
1  he  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 
Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  Km  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new. 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow: 
1  he  year  is  going,  let  him  go ; 

King  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 
t  or  those  that  here  we  see  no  more : 
Rm^  out  t'.<!  feud  of  rich  and  poor. 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause. 
And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife; 
R'ng  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

^i?f  °"*.''i,e  want,  the  care,  the  sin, 
1  he  faithless  coldness  of  the  times ; 
Ring  out,  ring  out  my  mournful  rhymes. 

But  nng  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  nlace  and  b'ood. 

1  he  CIVIC  slander  ancf  the  spite ; 

Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right. 
King  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease  ; 
King  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold; 


} 


i 


re-eave, 
shall  it  stand: 
anger's  land, 
Jhristmas-eve. 

alone 
r  snows : 
woodbine  blows, 
e  are  gone. 

grief  abuse 
nask  and  mime ; 
ike  growth  of  time, 
lying  use. 

ows  cast, 
chiefly  proved, 
f  loved, 
e  past. 

he  floor, 
Jntle  warm  ; 
I  ancient  form 
sathes  no  more? 

;,  nor  feast  ; 
or  tlute  be  blown  ; 
ave  alone 
I  east 

r  wood. 

r  in  the  seed  ; 

arcs,  and  lead 

:ood. 


wild  sky, 
sty  light : 
nigjht ; 
:t  him  die. 

e  new, 
I  the  snow : 
ngo; 
he  true. 

i  the  mind, 
e  no  more ; 
and  poor, 
ind. 

:se, 

V  strife ; 
of  life, 
r  laws. 

the  sin, 
he  times; 
irnful  rhymes. 


and  blood, 
spite ; 
nd  right, 
good. 


'Ring  out  wild  bells  to  the  wild  sky.' 


isease ; 
t  of  gold; 


H 


RIns;  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old. 
RiMK  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free. 

Ihe  larger  heart   the  kindlier  hand; 

King  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 
Knig  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

cvi. 

^\"i  *■''*  ^"y  "'hen  he  was  bom. 

A  bitter  day  that  early  sank 

Uehind  a  purple-frosty  bank 
Ut  vapor,  leaving  night  forlorn. 

The  time  admits  not  flowers  or  leaves 

1  he  blast  of  North  and  East,  and  ice 
Makes  daggers  at  the  sharpen'd  eaves. 

And  bristies  all  the  brakes  and  thorns 
To  yo„  hard  crescent,  as  she  hangs 

Its  l^^fl«'^'r°''^^''''*=''  8"des  ani clangs 
Its  leafless  nbs  and  iron  horns 

Tc^ether,  in  the  drifts  that  pass 

To  darken  on  the  rolling  Erine 

That  breaks  the  coast.      But  fetch  the 
wine, 
Arrange  ^he  board  and  brim  the  glass; 

lo  make  a  solid  core  of  heat ; 

Of  nllT       '"'"''''''•  '^"^  and  treat 
Ut  all  things  ev'n  as  he  were  by; 

^^Wmf  f,nnu  ^^^:,    ^'."^  f^'^'al  cheer. 

Wii  drink  to  him  whate'er  he  be 
And  smg  the  songs  he  loved  to  hear 

CVII. 

I  WILL  not  shut  me  from  my  kind 
And  lest  r  stiffen  into  stone,  • 
I  will  not  eat  my  heart  alone. 

Nor  feed  with  sighs  a  passing  ^dnd : 

What  profit  lies  in  barren  faith. 
And  vacant  yeamine,  tho'  with  mielit 

Or  dlv.' h"."""  'r^^"  «  highest  he7X 
Or  dive  below  the  wells  of  Death  P 


M  MEMORUAf. 


What  find  I  in  the  highest  riaci. 

I  '11  rather  take  what  fruit  may  be 

Rr,.f"":y"nder  human  skies: 

WhLaver'ii!i^l^°7°-  -"akes  us  wise. 
..  aiccp  With  tnee. 

CVIII. 

WKART-AFFLUBNCK  in  discufsive  talk 

From  household  fountains  never  dry ; 
Th  ;    "'"u  «='"'-ness  of  an  eye.        ^ 
That  saw  thro'  all  the  Muses-^walk  • 


Seraphic  intellect  and  force 

lo  seize  and  throw  the  doubt*  of  man 
Impassion'd. logic,  which  outrln 

1  he  he.irsr  m  Us  fiery  course ; 

High  nature  amorous  of  the  good 

Juttoiich'dwi.hnoascetWoom: 
Ti,     .   passion  pun;  in  snowy  bloom 

rhro- all  the  years  of  April  tlowlT 

P^'ove  of  freedom  rarely  felt, 
Y'  L  edom  in  her  regal  k"  .<■ 

Xhe  blind  hysterics  of  «.ie  feJt  - 


tii 


y  heat, 


And  manhood  fused  w  ih  '' 
In  such  a  sort,  the  c.  ltd 
A  trustful  hand,  unask'  ?, 

And  find  his  comfort  in  th- 


nale  grac 
■'Ulil  twii 
'if'  thiae. 


All  these  have  been,  and  thee  mine  eyes 
Have  look'd  on :  if  they  Jook'd  in  v"n 
My  shame  is  greater  who  remain.  ' 

Nor  let  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 


cix. 


Thy  converse  drew  us  with  delight. 

Th!  ?'7i°'^  '^l'"'  f"''  >■'?«' years  : 
1  he  feeble  soul,  a  haunt  of  fears. 
It  orgot  his  weakness  in  thy  sight. 

On  thee  the  loyal-hearted  hung, 

1  he  proud  was  half  disarm'5  of  pride. 
Nor  cared  the  serpent  at  thv  side         ' 

lo  flicker  with  his  tiouble  tongue? 

The  stern  were  mild  when  thou  wert  by. 
inH  h!f ■'^"IP"'  ^'""^^f  'o  school    ^' 
was  soften  d,  and  he  knew  not  why  ; 

^h''e  I.  thv  dearest,  sat  apart, 
An^i  ^"  H  "■""^Ph  was  as  mine  ; 
And  loved  tliem  more,  that  they  were  thine 

The  graceful  tact,  the  Christian  art?  ' 

Not  mine  the  sweetness  or  the  skill 
Kut  mine  the  love  that  will  not  tire. 
And,  born  of  love,  the  vague  S 

That  spurs  an  imitative  willf 


ex. 

The  churl  in  spirit,  up  or  down 

Along  the  scale  of  ranks,  thro*  alL 

R„  Ki     J  *,''°  ^"■asP"  a  golden  ball 
By  blood  a  kmg,  at  heart  a  clown ; 

The  churl  in  spirit,  howe'er  he  veil 
HIS  -A-snt  •■!  .orms  for  fashion 's  sake. 
Will  let  his  coltish  nature  break 

At  seasons  thro"  the  gilded  pale : 

For  who  can  always  act  ?  but  he 
To  whom  a  thousand  memories  call. 
Not  being  less  but  more  than  all 

ine  gentleness  he  seem'd  to  be 


X36 


viT^^^  ^H  't'"« ''«  ^as,  and  join 
Each  office  of  the  social  hour 
10  noble  manners,  as  the  flower 
And  native  growth  of  noble  mind  ; 

Nor  ever  narrowness  or  spite 
Or  villain  fancy  fleeting  by,' 
.,,t'''ew  in  the  expression  of  an  eve 
Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light  ; 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 

De&l'.i't"''^  "=""\°'"  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan. 
And  soil'd  with  all  ignoble  use. 

CXI. 

^ThJi^T  ^°^^^  ""y  ««dom  less, 

An  ii„  ."''°.Sa^5,w"h  temperate  eyes 
o  rf-  g'°"°"s  insufficiencies, 
S>et  light  by  narrower  perfectness. 

But  thou,  thr.tfiUest  all  the  room 
Ut  all  my  love,  art  reason  why 
1  seem  to  cast  a  careless  eye 

On  souls,  the  lesser  lords  of  doom. 

For  what  wert  thou  ?  some  novel  power 
Sprang  up  forever  at  a  touch! 
And  hope  could  never  hope  too  much 

In  watching  thee  from  hour  to  hour?      ' 

Large  elements  in  order  brought, 
a"^  "^"^f  °^*=^'"  from  tempest  made 
And  world-wide  fluctuation  sway'd'" 

In  vassal  tides  that  follow'd  thought 

exit. 

"^v' A^'''  *'^*'  f""""^^  "lakes  us  wise ; 
wu-  u"'  •""ch. wisdom  sleeps  with  thee 
Which  not  alone  had  guided  me, 

But  served  the  seasons  that  may  rise  ; 

For  can  I  doubt  who  knew  thee  keen 

In  intellect,  with  force  and  skill 
T  J°v'"''*'  *9  fashion,  to  fulfil- 
I  doubt  not  what  thou  wouldst  have  been  : 

A  life  in  civic  action  warm, 
A  soul  on  highest  mission  sent. 

A  ^-i?"'^".*  ^i'r'"  9''  Parliament, 
A  pillar  steadfast  in  the  storm. 

Should  licensed  boldness  gather  force. 
Becoming,  when  the  time  has  birth 
A  lever  to  uplift  the  earth  ' 

And  roll  It  m  another  course, 

^Witll'^f '  •  "^  *'"?<='''  that  come  and  go, 

ur-  u  agomes.  with  energies, 
A„^  ^i°^,^''?'"°'^'"gs,  and  with  cries. 
And  undulations  to  and  fro. 

cxin. 


/A^  MEMORIAM. 


But  on  her  forehead  sits  a  fire  : 
bhe  sets  her  forward  countenance 
And  leaps  into  the  future  chance. 

Submitting  all  things  to  desire. 

Half-grown  as  yet,  a  child,  and  vain 
bhe  cannot  fight  the  fear  of  dea  h 
What  IS  she,  cut  from  love  and  fai  h 

But  some  wild  Pallas  from  the  brab   ' 

^'a^I"'""^  '  fiery-hot  to  burst 

All  barriers  m  her  onward  race 
Oh  °.''  power.    Let  her  know  her  place  • 
She  is  the  second,  not  the  first  ' 

^  Tf^'ifl ''*"''  •'""^*  "lake  her  mild. 

If  all  be  not  in  vain  ;  and  guide 
WiTi?''  ^Po'steps.  moving  side  by  side 
With  wisdom,  like  the  younger  child  : 

^°„',f''^?ftWyofthemind, 
But  Wisdom  heavenly  of  the  soul. 

<i^J^\^'  '"^°  "'-'"t  to  thy  goal 
So  early,  leaving  me  behind, 

I  w^uld  the  great  world  grew  like  thee, 
Xl^  b^'^T'i  "°t  alonl  in  power  ' 
And  knowledge,  but  by  year  and  hour 

In  reverence  and  in  charity. 

CXIV. 

^Now  hn?,*''° ''''  '°"e  **««k  Of  snow, 

About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 
By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 
P^  ^'Stance  takes  a  lovelier  hue,    ^' 
Tl^  lltT"  '^ '"  y°»der  living  blue 
I  he  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

^Th  ^T^f  *'"'  "S^'*  °n  'awn^nd  lea, 
Ihe  flocks  are  whiter  down  the  vale, 
And  milkier  every  milky  sail 

On  winding  stream  or  distant  sea  ; 

Where  now  the  seamew  pipes,  or  dive. 

in  yonder  gleaminir  s;reen,  and  fly 
T„  I     M  PP?  V"^^'  '"at  change  their  sky 
1  o  build  and  brood ;  that  live  their  lives 

From  land  to  lana ;  and  in  my  breast 
tipnng  wakens  too  ;  and  my  regret 
iJecomes  an  April  violet, 

And  buds  and  blossoms  like  the  rest. 

f      _  cxv. 

I  ^^^L  ^l^f"'  '■f^''*'  '«'■  '""•ied  time 
1  Hat  keenlier  in  sweet  April  wakes. 

And  meets  the  '""■^r  m-"  -•' ■  '  • 

I  ne  colors  of  the  crescent  prime  ? 

^PpVall  i.the  songs,  the  stirring  air, 

I  he  hfp  re-orient  out  of  dust, 
T„  .L^.    V-  ^'"e  *ense  to  hearten  trust 
In  tkat  which  made  the  world  so  fair. 


W  ME  MORI  A  AT. 


Not  all  regret :  the  face  will  shine 
Upon  nie,  while  I  muse  alone  ; 
And  that  dear  voice  I  once  have  known 

Still  speak  to  me  of  me  and  mine  ; 

Yet  less  of  sorrow  lives  in  rae 
For  days  of  happy  commune  dead ; 
Less  yearning  for  the  friendship  fled, 

Than  some  strong  bond  which  is  to  be. 

cxvi. 

O^AYs  and  hours,  your  work  is  this. 
To  hold  me  from  my  proper  place, 
A  little  while  from  his  embrace, 

For  fuller  gain  of  after  bliss  ; 

That  out  of  distance  might  ensue 
Desire  of  nearness  doubly  sweet ; 
And  unto  meeting  when  we  meet, 

Delight  a  hundred-fold  accrue, 

For  every  grain  of  sand  that  runs, 
And  every  span  of  shade  that  steals, 
And  every  kiss  of  toothed  wheels. 

And  all  the  courses  of  the  suns. 

CJCVII. 

Contemplate  all  this  work  of  Time, 
The  giant  laboring  in  his  youth  ; 
Nor  dream  of  human  love  and  truth, 

As  dying  Nature's  earth  and  lime  ; 

But  trust  tiiat  those  we  call  the  dead 
Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day. 
Forever  nobler  ends.    They  say, 

The  solid  earth  whereon  we  tread 

In  tracts  of  fluent  heat  began, 
And  grew  to  seeming-random  forms. 
The  seeming  prey  of  cyclic  storms, 

111!  at  the  last  arose  the  man  ; 

Who  throve  and  branch'd  from  clime  to  clime 
1  he  herald  of  a  higher  race, 
And  of  himself  in  higher  place 

If  so  he  type  this  work  of  time 

Within  himself,  from  more  to  more  ; 
Or,  crown'd  with  attributes  of  woe 

'ru     i*^'?'''^^'  "'"^^  his  course,  and  show 
1  hat  life  IS  not  as  idle  ore, 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom. 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears. 
And  dipt  m  baths  of  hissing  tears. 

And  batter'd  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

Tp  shape  and  use.    Arise  and  fly 
r    ^,"=  reelmg  Faun,  the  sensual  feast  ; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die. 

cxvm. 
Doors,  where  my  heart  was  used  to  beat 

oo  quickly,  not  as  one  that  weeps 
r     •=°"'e  once  more  ;  the  city  sleeps  ; 
I  smell  the  meadow  in  the  street ; 


m 


I  heara  chirp  of  birds  ;  I  see 
Betwixt  the  black  fronts  long-withdrawn 
A  light-blue  lane  of  early  dawn. 

And  think  of  early  days  and  thee, 

And  bless  thee,  for  thy  lips  are  bland. 
And  bright  the  friendship  of  thine  eye  : 
And  in  my  thoughts  with  scarce  a  sigh 

1  take  the  pressure  of  thine  hand. 

cxix. 
I  TRUST  I  have  not  wasted  breath  ; 
I     7  think  we  are  not  wholly  brain, 
Magietic  mockeries ;  not  in  vain, 
Like  Paul  with  beasts,  I  fought  with  Death  ; 

Not  only  cunning  casts  in  clay  : 
Ut  Science  prove  we  are,  and  then 
"Vhat  matters  Science  unto  men,    ' 

At  liast  to  me  ?    I  would  not  stay. 

Let  hira,  the  wiser  man  who  springs 
Hereifter,  up  from  childhood  shape 
His  aeion,  like  the  greater  ape. 

But  I  WM  born  to  other  things. 

cxx. 

Sad  Hespero'er  the  buried  sun. 
And  readj,  thou,  to  die  with  him 
Thou  watcaest  all  things  ever  dim 

And  dimmer,  aid  a  glory  done  : 

The  team  is  loosen'd  from  the  wain. 
1  he  boat  is  dr»wn  upon  the  shore  , 
A   J  i°f  '.'^'«"^,^' » the  closing  door 
And  life  is  darken  d  in  the  brain. 

Bright  Phosphor,  fr.^her  for  the  night, 
By  thee  the  world':  great  work  is  heard 
Beginning,  and  the  wakeful  bird  : 

Behind  thee  comes  the  greater  light : 

The  market  boat  is  on  tfe  stream. 
And  voices  hail  it  from  the.  brink  • 
Thou  hear'st  the  village  lammer  clink. 

And  see  st  the  moving  of  tut  team. 

Sweet  Hesper-Phosphor,  doi\Je  name 
For  what  is  one,  the  first,  th.tlast 
Thou,  like  my  present  and  mvpast. 

Ihy  place  is  changed  ;  thou  art  >ie  same. 

cxxi.  \ 

O,  WAST  thou  with  me,  de.irer.t,  th^ 
While  I  rose  up  against  mv  dnom.v' 
And  yearn'd  to  burst  the  folded  glo,m 
To  bare  the  eternal  Heavens  '.gain. 

To  feel  once  more,  in  placid  awe. 
The  strong  imaginRti.-ir.  roll 
A  sphere  of  stars  about  n-.y  soul. 

In  all  her  motion  one  with  law. 

If  thou  wert  with  me,  and  the  grave 

Divide  us  not,  be  with  me  now. 

And  enter  in  at  breast  and  brow. 
Till  all  my  blood,  a  fuller  wave, 


138 

Be  quicken'd  with  a  livelier  breath. 

And  like  an  inconsiderate  boy 

As  in  the  former  flash  of  joy. 
I  slip  the  thoughts  of  life  artd  death  : 

And  all  the  breeze  ot  Fancy  blows. 
And  every  devv-drop  paints  a  bow, 
-1  he  wizard  lightnings  deeply  glow. 

And  every  thought  breaks  out  a  rose! 

CXXII. 

There  rolls  the  deep  where  grew  the  tree 
O  earth,  what  changes  thou  hast  seen! 

The  stillness  of  the  central  sea. 

The  hills  are  shadows,  and  they  flow 
From  form  to  form,  and  nothing  stands ; 

T  ik!'*^  "!?"  L'"'^  T'=''  "^«  ^°lid  lands, 
Like  clouds  they  shape  themselves  anc'go. 

But  in  my  spirit  will  I  dwell. 

And  dream  my  dream,  and  hold  L'  true; 

tor  tho  my  lips  may  breathe  adeu, 
1  cannot  think  the  thing  farewell. 

cxxm. 
"^"AT  which  we  dare  invoke  U  Mess  ; 
Our  dearest  faith  ;  our  ghastliest  doubt ; 
"f>  T"ey,  One,  All ;  withu  without ; 
1  he  Power  m  darkness  wban  we  guess  ; 

I  found  Him  not  m  world  Jrsun, 
Ur  eagle's  wing,  or  insects  eye  : 
Nor  thro'  the  questions  flen  may  try, 

Ihe  petty  cobwebs  we  hare  spun  : 


/A^  ME  MORI  AM. 


If  e  er,  when  faith  ha.'l  fill'n  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice,  "  5e(eve  no  more," 
And  heard  an  ever-keaking  sliore 

That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep  : 

A  warmth  within  thJ  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  rea<on's  colder  part, 
And  like  a  mynm  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  jniwer'd,  "  I  have  felt." 

No,  like  a  chia  in  doubt  and  fear  : 
Rut  that  hind  clamor  made  me  wise ; 
Then  vf»  I  as  a  child  that  cries, 

But,  cryinf,  knows  his  father  near; 

And  whit  I  am  beheld  again 
Whatw.  and  no  man  understands  ■ 
AndJut  of  darkness  came  the  hands 

That  «ach  thro'  nature,  moulding  men. 

cxxiv. 

WiATEVER  r  have  said  or  sung 
vr*.i""^u  notes  my  harp  would  give, 
Vm,  tho'  there  often  seem'd  to  livl 

f.  contradiction  on  the  tongue* 

^ci?*jPf  ,''ad  never  lost  her  youth  ; 
bhe  did  but  look  thro'  dimmer  eyes  • 
Or  Love  but  play'd  with  gracious  lies 
Because  he  felt  so  fix'd  in  truth  • 


And  if  the  song  were  full  of  care, 

AnH  /? Jhl"''  "If  'P'"'  ^f  'he  song  : 
And  If  the  words  were  sweet  and  Itronp' 
He  set  his  royal  signet  there ;  ^• 

Abici'ng  with  me  till  I  sail 
l^i!!.-  '^=*  °"  'he  mystic  deeps 
And  this  electric  force,  that  keew 

A  thousand  pulses  dancing,  foih    ^ 

cxxv. 

^Tn  J •  'k^  ""^^  '"y  Lord  and  King. 
And  in  his  presence  I  attend  ^ 
ip  hear  the  tidings  of  my  friend 

Which  every  hour  his  courfers  bring. 

^°\lt  ^lll'^^l'"?'  '^'"g  and  Lord, 
Aiid  will  be,  tho'  as  yet  I  keep 
Within  his  court  on  earth,  and  sleen 

Encompass'd  by  his  faithful  guard,  ^ 

■^^i^  hear  at  times  a  sentinel 

Who  mov-s  about  from  place  to  place, 
In^h    ^''^P^-'l'"  'he  worlds  of  space. 
In  the  deep  night,  that  all  is  well.        ' 

CXXVI. 

And  all  is  well,  tho' faith  and  form 
Be  sunder'd  in  the  nighl  ol  fear  : 
Well  roars  the  storm  to  those  that  hear 

A  deeper  voice  across  the  storm, 

Proclaiming  social  truth  sliall  spread. 
And  justice,  ev'n  tho'  thrice  again 

^h}V"\  '°i.°'"'i"'>'  °^  'he  Seine 
Should  pile  her  barricades  with  dead 


AnJ  w   '".T  ^^'^  ^^."■''  a  "Own, 
And  him,  the  lazar,  in  his  rags  : 
They  tremb  e,  the  sustaining  crags : 
I  he  spires  of  ice  are  toppled  downT 

And  molten  up,  and  roar  in  flood  ; 

I  he  fortress  crashes  from  o.-  high. 

The  brute  earth  lightens  to  the  skv 
And  the  great  ^on  finks  in  blood,  ^' 

^  w^TPu  ^'■''.''y  'he  fires  of  Hell ; 
While  thou,  dear  spirit,  happy  star, 
O'eriopk'st  the  tumult  from  afar 

And  smilest,  knowing  all  is  well. 

CXXVI  I. 

^?fnLT-'!5^*  1°^"  °"  sfong"  wings, 
Unpalsied  when  we  met  with  Death 
Is  comrade  of  the  lesser  faith 

ihat  sees  the  course  of  human  things. 

No  doubt  vast  eddies  in  the  flood 

Of  onward  time  shall  yet  be  made, 
„  •*"J?  throned  races  mav  decrade  .• 

r  ct,  u  ye  iuysteries  of  good,  " 

Wild  Hours  that  fly  with  Hope  and  Fear. 
Mr- u  y,°"''  °^^^  had  to  do  • 

With  old  results  that  look  like  new: 

If  this  were  all  your  mission  here, 


] 

I 

I 

I 

I 

C 

F 
T 

T 
W 


of  care, 

of  the  song ; 

sweet  and  strong, 

ere; 

1 

Stic  deeps, 
that  keeps 
S,  fail. 


and  King, 
tend 
ly  friend, 
riers  bring, 

ind  Lord, 
t  keep 
1,  and  sleep 
il  guard, 

3lace  to  place, 
ds  of  space, 
s  well. 


id  form 
of  fear  : 
t)se  that  hear 
orm, 

II  spread, 
ce  again 
eine 
ith  dead. 

:rown, 
rags: 
IB  crags  ; 
down, 

food  ; 
.<  high, 
the  sky, 
}lood, 

■  Hell ; 
)py  star, 
afar, 
ell. 


r  wings, 
li  Death, 
:h 


f^r  ME  MORI  AM. 


1  things, 
made. 


i  and  Fear, 

e  new ; 
ire. 


^^*^'?^',  *°  ■•leathe  a  useless  sword. 
To  fool  the  crowd  with  glorious  lies, 
lo  cleave  a  creed  in  sects  and  cries. 

To  change  the  bearing  of  a  word. 

To  shift  an  arbitrary  power, 
To  cramp  the  student  at  his  desk, 
To  make  old  bareness  picturesque 

And  tuft  with  grass  a  feudal  tower ; 

Why  then  my  scorn  might  well  descend 
On  you  and  vours.     I  see  in  part 
That  all,  as.  n  some  piece  of  art. 

Is  toil  cooperant  to  an  ind. 

CX3CVIII, 

Dbar  friend,  far  off,  my  1  jst  desire, 
So  far,  so  near  in  woe  and  weal  ; 
O  loved  the  most,  when  most  I  feel 

There  is  a  lower  and  a  higher ; 

Known  and  unknown  ;  human,  divine  ; 

Sweet  human  hand  and  lips  and  eye  ; 

Dear  heavenly  friend  that  canst  not  die, 
Mine,  mine,  forever,  ever  mine  ; 

Strange  friend,  past,  present,  and  to  be  ; 

Love  deeplier,  darklier  understood ; 

Behold,  I  dream  a  dream  of  good. 
And  mingle  all  the  worid  with  thee. 

CXXIX 

Thy  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air ; 

1  hear  thee  where  the  waters  run  ; 

Thou  standest  in  the  rising  sun. 
And  in  the  setting  thou  art  fair. 

What  art  thou  then  ?    I  cannot  guess ; 
But  tho  I  seem  in  star  and  flower 
To  feel  thee  some  diffusive  power, 

I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less : 

My  love  involves  the  love  before  ; 

My  love  is  vaster  passion  now  ; 

rho  mix'd  with  God  and  Nature  thou. 
i.  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Far  off  thou  art,  but  ever  nigh  ; 

I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice  ; 

I  prosper,  circled  with  thy  voice  : 
I  shall  not  lose  thee  tho'  I  die. 

cxxx. 

O  LIVING  will  that  shah  endure 
When  all  that  seems  sha'l  suffer  shock. 
Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock. 

Flow  thro'  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure. 

That  we  may  lift  from  out  of  dust 
^  YOice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 
A  cry  above  the  conquer'd  years 

Ao  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trusts, 

^rl?  '*'"'*''»»  comes  of  self-control, 
ine  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved. 

And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 


»39 


O  TRUE  and  tried,  so  well  and  long, 
IJemand  not  thou  a  marriage  lay  ; 
In  that  It  is  thy  marriage  day 

Is  music  more  than  any  song. 

Nor  have  I  felt  so  much  of  bliss 
Since  first  he  told  me  that  be  loved 
A  daughter  of  our  house  ;  nor  proved 

Since  that  dark  day  a  day  like  this  ; 

Tho'  I  since  then  have  number'd  o'er 
Some  thrice  three  years :  they  went  and 

came. 
Remade  the  blood  and  changed  the  frameu 

And  ye*,  is  love  not  less,  but  more  ^ 

No  longer  caring  to  embalm 

In  dying  songs  a  dead  regret. 

But  like  .1  statue  solid-set. 
And  mouldf  d  in  colossal  calm. 

Re^et  is  dead,  but  love  is  more 
1  han  in  the  summers  that  are  flown, 
for  I  myself  with  these  have  grown 

lo  something  greater  than  before  ; 

Which  makes  appear  the  songs  I  mada 
As  echoes  out  of  weaker  times. 
As  half  but  idle  brawling  rhymes. 

The  spo  r  of  random  sun  and  shade. 

But  where  is  she,  the  bridal  flower. 
That  must  be  made  a  wife  ere  noon  ? 
She  enters,  glowing  like  the  moon 

Ut  tden  on  its  bridal  bower : 

On  me  she  bends  her  blissful  eyes 
And  then  on  thee  ;  they  meet  thy  look 
And  brighten  like  the  star  that  shook 

Betwixt  the  palms  of  paradise. 

O  when  her  life  was  yet  in  bud, 

He  too  foretold  the  perfect  rose. 

For  thee  she  grew,  for  thee  she  grows 
Forever,  and  as  fair  as  good. 

And  thou  art  worthy ;  full  of  power  ; 
As  gentle  :  liberal-minded,  great, 
Consistent ;  wearing  all  that  weight 

Of  learning  lightly  like  a  flower. 

But  now  set  out :  the  noon  is  near. 
And  I  must  give  away  the  bride  ; 
She  fears  not,  or  with  thee  beside 

And  me  behind  her,  will  -  it  fear  : 

For  I  that  danced  her  on  iny  keee, 
That  watch'd  her  on  her  nurse's  arm. 
That  shielded  all  her  life  from  harm. 

At  last  must  part  with  her  to  thee  ; 

Now  waiting  to  be  made  a  wife. 
Her  feet,  my  darling,  on  thr  dead  ; 
Their  pensive  tablets  round  her  head. 

And  the  most  living  words  of  life 


140 


Breathed  in  her  ear     ti,      • 

I'lie  "  wilt  thou  '■,„!''«  ""«  is  on, 
„'i'''e  "  wilt  ,1  ou'"  askTt  1.'  ^".^  ^>'" 
Her  sweet  "  I  will  "  l^tsilt  ye'ot'"^'" 

Now  sign  your  names,  whir!>  -h  n  u 

Tl>e  name!  are  sL^f-J"  "»''°"' : 

®  *'S"  a.  and  overhead 

^Trio';tSlri'='s"^>^"«"3 

The  blLid  waH^n^^ "■'':,"«  breeze  ; 
The  dead  le'aSSs  tll'fheVjjr-' 

""tetfel?  happier  hours         • 
Salutes  th^m  -m."'!:,"  ""^--^y  face 

Thatpeltus^-^Cort't^;^^^-' 
^For'themfi;'^^  '■?  ''^liSh'  for  me 


/iV  MliMORjAM. 


,   Who    ta;   o  share  ,h  '''^  '"^^''^^^d. 
Who  rest  t^VhtTeS^eZra^  ''^^ 

^Tom"e^f^r'^P'"»«  advance 

''f''5'"'°"nd.  and  fancy  plavs 
Js^dfeS^hTo'l;  l^^««  Woon,, 
Wewishthe^'SVf°h'a';JrdSs''"" 

-,  They  ris^f  b'u^t  hW°''  f  ^,T^  '^ait  ; 
Farewell,  we  kiss, ralheVair^i,, 


,^  Of  words  and^'if  t'^Vdo?i?.'''l"^«  '^"aJ* 

The  crowning  cup:'.h'i'?£-ta5;e. 
Aiid  last  the  dance  •  —  t.-ii  r 

And  on  tfe  AolT^tri^X^J^'^^  ''°'"^ 

lAndpasftffifc^Ur^? 

'''pi?c^a^'i,\t'n!L^  S'ancing  riU,. 
And  o'er  the  ^^l^.!?°","'ain  head, 

Their  siaS^SS^tte  fte^  '^-'^ 

^  WiKndtU'omVh''''  ""/»'  'J-", 
^  And  breakfn?wThi''^  ^°°^i  *he  waif; 
To  spangle  alFfh'r^-lJ-dor  fall 


By  which  they  rest  an,*  r^ 

And  strikS  feat's  Co"i^S.-' 


''ResE'^„!^:°;«^!of,owernha,e. 

think, 


rI,  u  ■  °  mro'  life  of  lower 

^'^Cte^-ye.  Shan  look 
,  Is  Earth  anTEarth^f  *^°?"  command 
Is  Nature  like  an  ^en  book ';"  ''''"  '"""^ 
No  longer  half-akin  to  brute 

Ofwhati„^&"?3£S^|t'i?«'' 

I  '"oL^'s'od^^ro!;:"  and  '°-^ 

,      And  one  /ar"cff  dTw^e  eS""' 
lTowh,chthewholecreatioT,Sove.. 


MAUD. 


ad  what  he  wid, 
I  of  dew. 

h,  the  glee, 
'ought,  the  wealth 
ouble  health, 
■ee-times-three, 

I  retire : 

:h  spake  so  loud 

streaming  cloud, 

nder  down, 
dale 
or  sail 
town, 

lancing  riUs, 
am  head, 
anch  anii  spread 
le  hills  ; 

idal  doors, 
'f.  the  wail; 
dor  fall 
res 

D  sounds, 
%  past, 
the  vast 
ids, 


W« 


think, 

nk 

ace 

look 

command 
their  hand 


MAUD,  AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


MAUD. 


I  HATE  the  dreadful  hollow  behind  the  little  wood, 
Its  lips  in  the  field  above  are  dabbled  with  blood-red  heath, 
The  red-ribb'd  ledges  drip  with  a  silent  horror  cf  blood. 
And  Echo  there,  whatever  is  ask'd  her,  answer."  "  Death." 


For  there  in  the  ghastly  pit  long  since  a  body  wap  found, 
His  who  had  given  me  life  —  O  father  I  O  God  !  was  it  well? — 
Mangled,  and  flatten'd,  and  crush'd,  and  dinted  into  the  ground 
There  yet  lies  the  rock  that  fell  with  him  when  he  fell. 


Did  he  fling  himself  down?  who  knows  ?  for  a  vast  speculation  had  fail'd, 
And  ever  he  mutter'd  and  madden'd,  and  ever  wann'd  with  despair, 
And  out  he  walk'd  when  the  wind  like  a  broken  worldling  wail'd. 
And  the  flying  gold  of  the  ruin'd  woodlands  drove  thro'  tie  air. 


I  remember  the  time,  for  the  roots  of  my  hair  were  stit.   " 
By  a  shuflled  step,  by  a  dead  weight  trail'd,  by  a  whisper v  .tight. 
And  my  pulses  closed  their  gates  with  a  shock  on  my  heart  as  I  heard 
The  shnll-edged  shriek  of  a  mother  divide  the  shuddering  night. 


and  did, 
Jt  seed 
•uit; 

trod 

ripe, 
God, 

oves, 
t, 

et. 


Villany  somewhere  !  whose?    One  says,  we  are  villains  all. 

n  ►  ii';    ij  ''°"®^'  '^T  ^i'°"i'4  *','*^'  '^y  '"e  be  maintain'd  : 
But  that  old  man,  now  lord  of  the  broad  estate  and  the  Hall, 
Dropt  off  gorged  from  a  scheme  that  had  left  us  flaccid  and  drain'd. 

6. 

^rtnlrJ!",'^  ""'k'u*''" 'J'f  ''l?«>"g*  "f  Pcace  ?  We  have  made  them  a  cutse. 
Pickpockets,  each  hand  lusting  for  all  that  is  not  its  own  ;  ^ 

Thl  "Jhl°h  ^  w"'  ^'?K*'"'-''P'"^"/  C»'"'  '*  >t  better  or  worse 

man  the  heart  of  the  citizen  hissmg  in  war  on  his  own  hearthstone? 

?• 
But  these  are  the  days  of  advance,  the  works  of  the  men  of  mind, 
I«  it^^.- „    '  '  f°°' «'°.»ld  have  faith  in  a  tradesman's  ware  or  his  word? 
Is  It  peace  or  war  ?    Civil  war,  as  I  think,  and  that  of  a  kind 
ine  yiler  as  underhand,  not  openly  bearias  the  sword. 


■:%m 


Sooner  or  later  I  too  may  passively  take  the  print 

Of  the  golden  age  —  why  not  ?    I  have  neither  hope  nor  trust : 

May  make  my  heart  as  a  millstone,  set  my  face  as  a  flint, 

Cheat  and  be  cheated,  and  die :  who  knows?  we  are  ashes  and  dust 


i^*^^ 


ITI 


*4» 

JifAtro. 

J'eace  in  h'er  vineyf^ji^"' fl^  when  on-Sail  ^  ,?/•  '^''^  "'•»«' 

*^--"'>'^"nclr,-i  thrones' 

from  abroad ; 


Waud  with  her  V     *  '^* 


19. 


fthtetE    ^^'^^"•"s  are  bad      Sb 


ng  me  a  curse, 
"one. 

-,.'*"  be  the  worse 
""av  Pine  to  hfs  own 


MAUD. 


><« 


w  swine, 


II. 

loNo  :- V  e  I  sighM  for  a  calm  :  God  grant  I  may  find  it  at  last  I 

It  wi.   rover  be  broken  by  Maud,  she  has  neither  savor  nor  salt. 

But  a  c.o)d  and  clear-cut  face,  as  I  found  when  her  carriage  past. 

Perfectly  beautiful :  let  it  be  granted  her :  where  is  the  fault  ? 

AH  that  I  saw  (for  her  eyes  were  downcast,  not  to  be  seen) 

Faultily  faultless,  icily  regular,  splendidly  null. 

Dead  perfection,  no  more  ;  nothing  more,  if  it  had  not  been 

For  a  chancy  of  travel,  a  paleness,  an  hour's  defect  of  the  rose. 

•Jx  .'.n  undf  rlip,  you  may  call  it  a  little  too  ripe,  too  full, 

Or  the  least  little  dclicaie  nquiline  curve  in  a  sensitive  nose 

Ficm  wLich  I  escaped  heart-free,  with  the  least  little  touch  of  spleen. 


foam, 

"er  and  till, 
'me.  — 


III. 

Cold  and  clear-cut  face,  why  come  you  so  cruelly  meek. 
Breaking  a  slumber  in  which  all  spleenful  folly  was  drown'd. 
Pale  with  the  golden  beam  of  an  eyelash  dead  on  the  cheek, 
Passionless,  pale,  cold  face,  star-sweet  on  a  gloom  profound; 
Womanlike,  taking  revenge  too  deep  for  a  transient  virrong 
Done  but  m  thought  to  your  beauty,  and  ever  as  pale  as  before 
Orowing  and  fading  and  growing  upon  me  without  a  sound. 
Luminous,  gemlike,  ghostlike,  deathlike,  half  the  night  long 
Growing  and  fading  and  growing,  till  I  could  bear  it  no  more. 
But  arose,  and  all  by  myself  in  my  own  dark  garden  ground, 
Listening  now  to  the  tide  in  its  broad-flung  shipwrecking  roar, 
iVV°n  ,*?  ■      scream  of  a  madden'd  beach  dragg'd  down  by  the  wave. 
Walk  d  in  a  wnitry  wind  by  a  ghastly  glimmer,  and  found 
me  shmmg  daffodil  dead,  and  Orion  low  in  his  grave. 


IV. 


riek, 
k 


A  MILLION  emeralds  break  from  the  ruby-budded  lime 
In  the  little  grove  where  I  sit  —ah,  wherefore  cannot  I  be 
WhL  .IT^I      ff*  season  gay,  like  the  bountiful  season  bland, 
W^uV\^-  'Yi;°'[-^'L"  blown  by  the  breeze  of  a  softer  clime. 
Half-lost  m  the  liquid  azure  bloom  of  a  crescent  of  sea 
Ihe  silent  sapphire-spangled  marriage  ring  of  the  land? 


im. 


d; 


I 

I 


Anl?!!!"^'  Im"'  '?  »h«  v'"a§e,  and  looks  how  quiet  and  small  I 

ili  \l^f^]^^  °  *."■  '■'"'  V'^h  t^^  g°ssiP.  'scandal,  andTpite  : 
And  Jack  on  his  alehouse  bench  has  as  many  lies  as  a  Cyar  ■ 

And  up"  "thrhiih"!!:?;'  ^'*'  V  ^  4"^"?!  "mersrhVHall ; 
Ana  up  in  the  high  Hall-garden  T  see  her  pass  like  a  light  • 
But  sorrow  seize  me  if  ever  that  light  be  my  leading  star  I 

V  1.  3- 

I  .n'el'h!rfn^^^''"''^u°u''^''u''**'3."'  *^  ^"■""«"J  head  of  the  race? 

I  bowM  rr,  V   Z^"*^  ^^'  '"■"I''"'  *""  "°'  *o  *>"  brother  I  bow'd ; 

R„tThf  i      '?  lady-sister  as  she  rode  by  on  the  moor ; 

C\rh(^A     ^^  °^  ^  '°°'"''  1?"^*  ^^^^'^  °ver  her  beautiful  face. 

Vour  father  has  wealth  well-gotten,  and  I  am  nameless  and  poor. 

4- 
I  keep  but  a  man  and  a  maid,  ever  ready  to  slander  and  steal ; 
1  know  It,  and  smile  a  hard-set  smile,  like  a  stoic,  or  like 
A  wiser  epicurean,  and  let  the  world  have  its  way  • 

n-k""  "st'^'S  '*  °"*  "'i''^  "P'"«'  »  "la™  ""  preacher  can  heal ; 

Ihe  Mayflv  is  torn  by  the  swallow,  the  sparrow  spear'd  by  the  shrike 

And  the  wliole  httle  wood  where  I  sit  is  a  world  o?  plunder  and  prey 


144 


^Ir^^'"^^^^^^^^^^^^  Beauty  fair  i„  her  flower  • 

That  poshes  us  off  froAi  the  bo^rd  a.>  A^h  ""'""  ''^"^  «'  a  game 
Ah  yet  we  cannot  be  kind  to  earh  n,     °'''«'V^^''  s"«eed  ? 
We  whisper  and  hint,  and  chucku    ''![  ^^^^^°'  ='"  '■o"'"; 
However  we  brave  it  out,  lf^%T,'^^  S're'eS""'"'^  ^'^^^ ' 

FoSrd'hlJSl°'lt  I-ord^and  Master  of  Earth 
And.he  felt  himse  f  inw"  for«  'to'il''^^  ''^^'  billowing  Tan 
Asnme  months  go  to  the  shan1„^  ^^  .^^^'"'•e's  crowninc  race 
So  many.a  million  of  ages  Inve  Inn". ',"'^1'"?'=  '""r  his  §ir,h  ' 
He  now  .s  first,  but  is  ife  ^Sast^Hlil"  t^  roSfef"^  "=      ^ 

'^^^^S^Z^:^^  of  glo,^.  and  vain. 
The  passionate  heart  of  the  nn!'»  ^  ^^V"-' bounded  and  poor  • 


From  the  long-neckM  jreese  of  ,h»        '.!1  't'^  ''"'^'^"b  "^ies  • 

Vour  father  is  ever  n  Londnn  v    ^'  her  image  in  marble  above  • 
Vou  have  but  fed  ^^fcteS;  rd  raS^aL^s^^fll^!^'"     ' 


f_':?''^«  by  the  cedar-tree, 

Jn  the  meadow  under  the  Hall  I 

In  th»  ^,  *"^  morning  of  life 

Ready  m  heart  and  ready  inha^H^' 

Sh5  a'r  rn^"^  ^"«''  -'i  fife 

"le  aeath,  for  their  native  land. 
And  wildvoicepealingupto  the  sunny  sky. 


fcu?f.!t^l^F,roffrvou^f"/l^^''«'«". 
I  Singi„g.of  Def  th\l!rorS«£St 

."■'"'a^nl'm^f^P^"-*'--  sordid 
I  '*"'*  "yseif  so  languid  and  base. 

Ri'l'J^n'  )'""t'ful  voice  ( 
I  With  ,'•  '"■•y°".°"'y  *™"ble  the  mind 

I  |"'l  I  I  will  hear  vo.,  no  -i, — 


MAUD. 


wer; 
game 


ame; 


•out? 


praiM, 


n  English  green, 
land  her  grace, 
'Dor  that  cannot 

time  so  sordid 

ise. 


ie  mind 
ejoice, 


es  me  a  choice 
d  fall  before 
and  adore, 
nor  kind. 


VI. 

I. 

Morning  arises  stormy  and  pale. 
No  sun,  but  a  wannish  glare 
In  fold  upon  fold  of  hueless  cloud. 
And  the  budded  peaks  of  the  wooj 
Caught  and  cuff'd  by  the  gale : 
i  had  fancied  it  would  be  fair. 

a. 
Whom  but  Maud  should  I  meet 
l^ast  night,  when  the  sunset  bum'd 
On  the  blossom'd  gable-ends 
At  the  head  of  the  village  street. 
Whom  but  Maud  should  I  meet? 
And  she  touch'd  my  hand  with  a 

sweet 
She  made  me  divine  amends 
*  or  a  courtesy  not  retum'd. 


are  bow'd 


And  a  moist  mirage  in  desert  eves 
A  wretched  vote  may  be  gain'd.       ' 


»4a 


smile  so 


J. 
And  thus  a  delicate  spark 
Of  glowing  and  growing  light 
V^Z  .'"« J'velong  hours  of  the  dark 
R.?J  "f^'u  ^^""^  •"  ">«=  heart  of  my 
™  ^?I.°  ^"'1' '"  1'=°'°^'''  flange  ; 
7ni"i '*!■*•  •'^'J^"  'he  morning  came 
In  a  cloud.  It  faded,  and  seems       * 
But  an  ashen-gray  delight. 

4. 

What  if  with  her  sumy  hair, 
And  smile  as  sunny  as  cold, 
sne  meant  to  weave  me  a  snare 
Of  some  coquettish  deceit, 
Cleopatra-hke  as  of  old 
1  o  entangle  me  when  we  met. 

If  H  ?Z,''^' ''°'?  '■°"  '■"  a  silken  net. 
A  i.d  fawn  at  a  victor's  feet. 

S. 
«K'YJ'Vr'''""Iheatfifty 
Should  Nature  keep  me  aHve, 
J^h^^^.d  «he  world  so  bitter  ' 
When  lam  but  twenty-five? 
If  M     J  *  **■■*  "°'  a  cheat, 
if„2^?"'lw"e  all  that  she  seemM, 
And  her  smile  were  all  that  I  dream'd 
Then  the  world  were  not  so  biitlr       ' 
But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet 

6. 

^A'*  If  *ho'  her  eye  seem'd  full 
What  If  that  dandy-despot  he 

Smeliri'c?"m'Sd1,r''"]^"" 
Hf-r  brolhrr  f  iT  °^  '"solence. 

To  msk  ,hl^  K^"?""  e?'"'^  «ense 
With  ,    1     °  ''"' '"  "'s  own  behoof 
Wh.,¥i*'ty  *■"■'«  his  brutal  score  _ 
How'f,^,?,^,'^  'P'.d  heryestermon"' 
A  face  of  ,iL°'' '"'  °w.n  sweet  sake 
-» 'ac?  of  tenderness  might  be  feign'd, 

<9 


dreams, 


For  a  raven  ever  croaks,  at  mv  side 

Is  cap  and  bells  for  a  fool       ^ 

8. 
Cim^T  Jhe  smile  and  tender  tone 

Foram  I  nn?""  P  'y'"S  womanhood, 

|oi  am  I  not,  am  I  not,  here  alone 

So  many  a  summer  since  she  died 

My  mother,  who  was  so  gentle  and  eood  > 

tei,^  ?K?>  «"  empt/houser    * 

te?  'e  lhe'ieafeir°^' 

And  t jJrieklnnsWr^cot 

^Kt^^SfS^S-K^Srown 
Tm    ' '"  u-5°u'"8  chambers  wide. 
Till  a  morbid  hate  and  horror  have  grown 
Of  a  world  in  which  I  have  hardly^SE?t 
And  a  morbid  eating  lichen  fixt  ^         ' 
On  a  heart  half-turned  to  stone. 


9- 

Rv^1f,^*  "'"  '*""*•  ^'■''  yo"  flesh,  and  caught    ' 
For  ^h  J°"  ""^"'■f  '°  withstand?  ^  * 

fiSt   I  fearThi'  *'*'  ^'''"■"  ""^  '^""Rht 
xk:V       ?'^'  'he  new  strong  w  ne  of  love 

WhenT«'  ?ir  "'"8"''  so  stammer  and  ?rip 
fV,!lr  ^.^^.'^"he  treasured  splendor,  her  haSd 
An?!h''"''"?°i"  °*"  her  sacred  glove  ' 

And  the  sunlight  broke  from  heFHp!' 

to.      - 

She're.^I'J.'''  "^^^  •"=''  *''«"  ^  child  ; 
bhe  remembers  it  now  we  meet 

Ah  well,  well,  well,  I  may  be  beguiled 
By  some  coquettish  deceit.      °^^""*'' 
If  M     J  ^  "'^'■'  "ot  a  cheat, 
V„^?"^  were  all  that  she  seem'd, 

Thl  t1,?""'li'^'^  '"  'hat  I  dream'd. 
Then  the  world  were  not  so  bitter 
But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet 

VII. 

Did  I  hear  it  half  in  a  doze 
Long  since,  I  kjiow  not  where? 

"".•'..■  -icam  It  an  iiour  ncro, 
vvrift:!  asleep  in  this  arm-chair? 

Men  were  drinking  together, 

..  £",f.',"?  and  talking  of  me; 

Wn  'hi  "  P,"""^^  ^  K<rl.  the  boy 
yvui  have  plenty :  so  let  it  be,'' 


146 


MA'^ 


Is  it  an  echo  of  something 
Read  with  a  boy's  delight. 

Viziers  nodding  together 
In  some  Arabian  night? 


Strange,  that  I  hear  two  men, 

..«7°M*1^^""■^•  'a"«'ng  of  mc  ; 
We  ,  if  It  prove  a  girl,  n.y  boy 
Will  have  plenty :  so  let  it  be." 

VIII. 

a"5  "^^""^  '°  ""^  village  churr'ri, 

And  sat  by  a  pillar  alone ; 

An  angel  watching  an  urn 

Wept  over  her,  carved  >i  stone  ; 

And  once,  but  once,  sh    li'  ed  her  eyes. 

t)J  fi*^''.!'"'^'  »«"«"y-  'fingely  blish'd 
i<*  .""«•  they  were  met  by  mv  own ; 

AnA  th?!*"'^' '*•?","{:•  ""i'  ^'^  "^'  tv.at  stronger 
And  thicker,  until  I  heard  no  longer 
Ihe  snowy-banded,  dilettante, 
Selicate-handed  priest  intonp,; 
And  thoughf,  is  it  pride,  and  mused  and 

"No  surely,  now  it  cannot  be  pride." 

iX. 

I  WAS  walking  a  mile, 
More  than  a  mile  from  the  shore, 
Ine  sun  look'd  out  with  a  smile 
Betwixt  the  cloud  and  the  moor. 
And  ndine  at  set  of  day 
Over  the  dark  moor  land, 
Rapidly  riding  far  away, 
She  waved  to  me  with  her  hand, 
inere  were  two  at  her  side, 
Something  flash'd  in  the  sun, 
Down  by  the  hill  I  saw  them  ride, 
in  a  moment  they  were  gone  : 
Ijike  a  sudden  spark 
Struck  vainly  in  the  night, 
And  back  returns  the  dark 
With  no  more  hope  oF  light 


.•Kh.  m  t?>s  .    ice  all  women  desire. 

And  simper  and  set  their  voices  lower' 
And  soften  as  if  to  a  girl,  and  hold 
Awe-stricken  breaths  at  a  work  divine 
Seeing  his  gewgaw  castle  shine,  ' 

New  as  his  title,  built  last  year 
The.-;  a-.d  perky  larches  and  pine. 

And  over  the  sulien-punil- ^     ' 

(Look  at  it)  prickim       ..      ..^y  \^ 

2. 

What,  has  he  found  my  jewel  out? 
For  one  of  the  two  that  rode  at  her  side 
Bound  for  the  Hall,  I  am  sure  was  he  ■ 
BHthf  ^°'  !!!\"="''  »"d  I  think7or  a  bride 
Maud  cZlil'^"'  '"■?"'*''•  acceptance  be 
Tn  ,  1    J  ^  '''  gracious  too.  no  doubt. 

A  bought  commission,  a  waxen  faciT 
A  rabbit  mouth  that  is  ever  aeaoe- 
Bought  ?  what  is  it  he  cannot  b^? 

a".1     J''j°''*'P''"«''='  personal  base. 
A  wounded  thing  with  a  rancorous  wy/ 

ticU      Tl"  T'l'f  ^"'^  »  «retched?a<^ 
Sick,  sick  to  the  heart  of  life,  am  I. 


T^L^f^K  """  °"^.'o.«he  county  town. 
To  preach  our  poor  little  army  down. 

Thi^u^  ^h  «»'"«  °f  the  despoi  kings, 

II  is  broad;brim'd  hawker  of  holy  thinel 
Whose  ear  is  stuff'd  with  his  cotton,  aWng. 

Thf  \'"  w'™'  *°i'''  ^hink  of  his'  pence"^ 
This  huckster  put  down  war  I  can  he  tell 
Whether  war  be  a  cause  or  a  consequence  • 
i'ut  down  the  pa;,  ons  that  make  earth  Hell  l 
Down  with  ?",hiti<  .,  avarice,  pride. 
Jealousy,  down  1  cu.  off  from  the  mit  J 
Ihe  bitter  springs  of  ang     and  fear: 
Jiown  too,  down  at  your     vn  fireside, 
Uheev   tongue  an       .e  evil  ear, 
i        Kh  18  dt  war  with  i  .mkind. 


il 


SrcK,  am  I  sick  of  a  jealous  dread? 

Was  not  one  of  the  two  at  her  side 

7  his  new-made  lord,  who^^e  splen -or  plucks 

The  slavish  hat  from  the  villager',  head  ? 

Whose  old  grandfather  has  laccly  died. 

Gone  to  a  blacker       .or  whom 

A    77  ~:^''^^^l"='">  •  ."^ging  his  trucks 

And  laying  his  trams  in  a  poison'd  gloon 

MastA  l!",?'  '^'-'Pt/'-T  »  guttelmine 
A    1 .  /•  .  "^"^  *  servile  shire. 
And  left  his  coal  all  'uru'd  into  gold 
lo  a  grandson,  first  of  his  noble  line, 


I  wish  T  rould  hear  again 
Th'    '.IV  i.-ous  battle-sonp 
Thai  she  warbled  alone  in  hr 
I  might  persuade  myself  thei 
She  would  not  do  herself  this  p 
To  take  a  wanton,  dissolutp  '  ;j 
For  a  man  and  leader  of  me.:. 


joy! 


'■a*  wrong 


1  he; 
egr 


'lead,  hand, 
'nes  gone 


Ah  God,  for  a  mar 

Like  some  of  the 

For  ever  and  ever  u 

One  still  strong  man  ,n  a  blatai.;  land. 

Whatever  they  ca!!  hi.-n.  ivhst  .—re  T 

Aristocrat,  deinocratV'autocrat,  — one 

Who  can  rule  and  dare  not  lie. 

6. 

*nat  we  man  I  am  may  cease  to  b«  | 


omen  deRire, 
»t  all  men  adore, 
ir  voices  lower, 
rl,  and  ho!d 
t  a  work  divine, 
le  shine, 
ast  year, 
les  and  pine, 

■'  -■■  ':-/  .«!■. 


jewel  out? 

rode  at  her  aid* 
m  sure  was  he  : 
1  I  think  for  a  bride, 
r's  acceptance  be. 

too,  no  doubt, 
ladded  shape, 

waxen  face, 
ver  a^ape  — 
annot  buy.' 

personal,  base, 

rancorous  cry, 
a  wretched  race, 

life,  am  I. 


he  county  toira, 
:  army  down, 
e  despot  kings, 
t  and  thrice  a*  well  j 
er  of  holy  things, 
his  cotton,  and  rings 
link  of  his  pence, 
war  I  can  he  fell 
or  a  consequence  ? 
at  make  earth  Hell  1 
iirice,  pridcj 
rom  the  mic  1 
"^  and  fear; 

vn  tireside, 

he  evil  ear, 
laiikmd. 


he  • joy  I 
hei 
this  pa.at  wrong 

ne.;. 


ea      head,  hand, 
rt.,   ones  gone 

)lataiu  land, 

U-f r 

tint  •  "TC    1, 

:rat,  —  one 
lie. 


"  She  came  to  the  village  church. 
And  sat  by  a  pillar  alone." 


n  me, 
ise  to  be  I 


|,  ij  M 
mWm  i 


Mi 


m 

Gai 


Mai 


Iki< 

St 
Mac 


I  to  I 
W 

OM 
If 


Iknc 
Ho 

Forh 
Am 


Birds 
We 

Wher 
One 


Look, 
And 

Goba 
Vo« 


MAUD. 


XI. 

0  "T  the  solid  ground 
Not  fail  beneath  my  feet 

«?["  '"''  '"'*  •'*''  'ound 

What  some  have  found  t-  sweet  • 

1  Hen  let  come  what  .  ome  n.av 
What  matter  if  l  go  „,ad,  '' 
I  shall  have  had  my  day. 

a. 
Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure. 

Not  close  and  darken  above  me 
""'"''■*  1  am  quite  quite  -ure 

Ti.      X  '""■"  '*  °"e  •<>  love  me  ; 
1  hen  let  come  what  come  may 

I  shall  have  had  my  day. 


XII. 

^*wu  '"."1?  'lis''  HaII-j?arden 
When  twilight  was  fairing, 

Maud,  Maud,  Maud,  Maudi 
Ihey  were  crying  and  calling. 

^a"?  J'"  M»"d  ?  in  our  wood  ; 

And  I,  who  else,  was  with  her. 
Gathering  woodland  lilies. 

Myriads  blow  together. 

Birds  in  our  woods  sane 
Ringing  thro'  the  valleys, 

Maud  IS  here,  here,  here 
In  among  the  lilies. 

I  kiss'd  her  slender  hand, 
bhe  took  the  kiss  sedately: 

Maud  IS  not  seventeen, 
But  she  is  tall  and  sutely. 

^  !S,"y  °"t  on  pride 
n  Vf  "j^^*  "o"  '>er  favor  I 
U  Maud  were  sure  of  Heaven 
xt  lowliness  could  save  her. 

6. 
I  know  the  way  she  went 
F„,  k'"'P*"'1.''='"  "^»'den  posy, 

'^^d^ftftiS:^^^^^^ 

^WeJe"*''''""«'^/^"-g'''den 
Whl!!  •'^7J"S  and  calling  to  her 
"here  IS  MaiiH   Af-..j  ifV.    ; 

nn«  ;.  _      — '  ••'•'«•".  i»Iaua, 
une  IS  come  to  woo  her. 

^°?K';.''?'-»«?t  the  door. 

Go  back'mv^'"^  ^'^'^'•'^  »  »""''■"& 
You  «.   '^Ju''*'  '"=■■"«'  'he  moor, 
»ou  are  not  her  darling.    ' 


«47 


XIII. 


and 


ScoRN'D,  to  be  scom'd  by  one  that  I  .com 
Is  that  a  matter  to  make  me  fret  ?  ' 

rha  a  calamity  hard  to  be  borne? 
Ev.„i.K  .'?"*'  "*''  '°  '•>'«  me  yet. 

I  oast  him   f"  '°  ''"  ^^'^  ^'.""'i»  pride  I 
1  past  him,  I  was  crossing  his  landa  ; 

He  stood  on  the  path  a  ifttle  aside! 

His  face,  as  I  grant,  in  spite  of  spite. 

Has    a    broad-blown    comeliness,   red 

white, 

Bufh'*  *""'  ''^°'  "  ^  "''"''■  he  stands  ; 
?^^  k"  ""»«»  •"■•n'd  the  live  air  sick 

Wrfte"'  °E^'l"«  iewel-thick      • 
ijunn  d  Itself  on  his  breast  and  his  hands, 

nn^M*"  ?"  ""?  ""««"««.  unfair, 
I  long  d  so  heartily  then  and  there 

R„»  J.T  J'""  "'.'  8''**P  o'"  fellowship  ; 

Sfnnr    '''.^P'""  '^\**''  humming  an  a  r. 
Stopt.  and  then  with  a  riding  whin 
Leisurely  tapping  a  glossy  boot. 
And  curving  a  contumelious  lip. 
Oorgonued  me  from  head  to  foot 
With  a  stony  British  stare. 


Why  aits  he  here  in  his  father's  chair? 
Shal  liT""  ?""  "=?■""  '°  ^'^  place: 
ISnV^t7e!lnThrv^lKi?r^er^ 

I  Swcely,  now,  would  I  callhim  a  cheat  • 

She'  mfJkt'l^'^'P''  "  ^  «hiW  of  deceit,  ' 
An^  M^'"..'^^  ^  """^  descent  be  untrue- 
Tho' Y?,"nV\"  "■"'  «  Maud  is  sweet"; 
Tn^h,  .1  her  sweetness  only  due 
X  0  the  sweeter  bloci  by  the  other  sidi.  • 
Her  mother  has  been  a  thng  complete  ' 
However  she  came  to  be  so  allied.^      ' 
Maud,'j;K"''°"''''''^''"'"'«"hin, 
Maud  to  him  IS  nothing  akin : 
some  peculiar  mystic  grace 
Made  her  only  the  child  of  her  mother 
And  heap'd  the  whole  inheritedTn      ' 

AU  ,n      "^"  f'P'K''''  of  'he  race, 
All,  all  upon  the  brother. 


£'"*•  fn?ry  spirit,  and  let  him  be  I 
Has  not  his  sister  smik  d  m  me  ? 

XIV. 

Maud  has  a  garden  of  roses 
And  lihes  fair  on  a  lawn  • 
1  here  she  walks  in  her  state 
And  tends  upon  bed  and  bower 
And  thither  I  climb'd  at  dawn 
And  stood  by  her  garden  gate  ; 
A  lion  ramps  at  the  top, 
tie  M  ?laspt  by  a  passjon-flow^r, 


X4« 


MAUD. 


11  ij 


m 


ft  •■  ; 


fii 


Maud's  own  Httle  oak-room 

(Which  Maud,  like  a  precious  stone 

Set  m  the  heart  of  the  carven  gloom. 

Lights  with  herself,  when  alone 

She  sits  by  her  music  and  books, 

And  her  brother  lingers  late 

With  a  roistering  company)  looks 

Upon  Maud's  own  garden  gate  : 

And  I  thought  as  I  stood,  i?a  hand,  as  white 

As  ocean-foam  in  the  moon,  were  laid 

On  the  hasp  of  the  window,  and  my  Delight 

Had  a  sudden  desire,  like  a  glorious  ghostrto 

.  .,       e''de, 

Like  a  beam  of  the  seventh  Heaven,  down  to 

my  side, 
There  were  but  a  step  to  be  made. 


The  fancy  flatter'd  my  mind, 
And  again  seem'd  overbold  ; 
Now  I  thought  that  she  cared  for  me. 
Now  I  thought  she  was  kind 
Only  because  she  was  cold. 


I  heard  no  sound  where  I  stood 

But  the  rivulet  on  from  the  lawn 

Runniug  down  to  my  own  dark  wood  ; 

Or  the  voice  of  the  long  sea-wave  as  it  swell'd 

Wow  and  then  in  the  dim-gray  dawn  ■ 

But  I  look'd,  and  round,  all  round  the  house 

I  beheld 
The  death-white  curtain  drawn  ; 
Felt  a  horror  over  me  creep, 
Prickle  my  skin  and  catch  my  breath. 
Knew  that  the  death-white  curtain  meant  but 

sleep. 
Yet  I  shudder'd  and  thought  like  a  fool  of  the 

sleep  of  death. 


XV. 

So  dark  a  mind  within  me  dwells, 
Tu      •/■^T''"'  myself  such  evil  cheer, 
'  tm  If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 
Ihen  some  one  else  may  have  much  to 
fear  ; 
^^i.^  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 
oi.  .,  ."  ^  should  be  to  myself  more  dear, 
hhall  I  not  take  care  of  all  that  I  think. 
Yea  ev'n  of  wretched  meat  and  drink, 
If  I  be  dear, 
If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else  ? 


XVI. 


This  lump  of  earth  has  left  his  estate 
1  he  lighter  by  the  loss  of  his  weight ; 
And  so  that  he  find  what  he  went  to  seek, 
And  ftilsome  Pleasure  clog  him,  and  drown 
nis  j)e*rt  in  the  gross  mud-honey  of  town, 


He  may  stay  for  a  year  who  has  gone  tar  a 
week :  .  =  " 

But  this  is  the  day  when  I  must  speak. 
And  I  see  my  Oread  coming  down. 
O  this  IS  the  day  1 

0  beautiful  creature,  what  am  I 

1  hat  I  dare  to  look  her  way  ; 
Think  I  may  hold  dominion  sweet 

Lord  of  the  pulse  that  is  lord  of  h«  breast. 

F,„  ^ri""i  °S  ''*'■  ^'^J'^y  w'th  tender  dread, 
From  the  delicate  Arab  arch  of  her  feet 
1  o  the  grace  that,  bright  and  light  as  the  crest 
Of  a  peacock,  sits  on  her  shining  head. 
And  she  knows  it  not :  O,  if  shI  knew  it, 
lo  know  her  beauty  might  half  undo  it 
I  know  It  the  on    bright  thing  to  save 
My  yet  young  life  in  the  wilds  of  Time. 

Pprh^E!  f"""""  "»''"""'  perhaps  from  crime, 
Perhaps  from  a  selfish  grave. 


What,  if  she  were  fasten'd  to  this  fool  lord. 
iJare  I  bid  her  abide  by  her  word  ? 
^should  I  love  her  so  well  if  she 

cif  u^t';^"  ^V  ^'"'■^  *°  *  'hing  so  low? 
Shall  I  love  her  as  well  if  she 
Can  break  her  word  were  it  even  for  me? 
I  trust  that  it  is  not  so. 


Catch  not  my  breath,  O  clamorous  heart. 
Let  not  my  tongue  be  a  thrall  to  my  eyai 
For  I  must  tell  her  before  we  part 
I  must  tell  her,  or  die. 


XVII. 

Go  not,  happy  day. 

From  the  shining  fields, 
Go  not,  happy  day. 

Till  the  maiden  yields. 
Rosy  is  the  West 

Rosy  is  the  South, 
Roses  are  her  cheeks, 

And  a  rose  her  mouth. 
When  the  happy  Yes 

Falters  from  her  lips. 
Pass  and  blush  the  news 
O'er  the  blowing  ships, 
Over  blowing  seas, 
Over  seas  at  rest. 
Pass  the  happy  news. 

Blush  it  thro'  the  West, 
Till  the  red  man  dance 
By  his  red  cedar-tree. 
And  the  red  man's  babe 
Leap,  beyond  the  sea. 
Blush  from  West  to  East, 
Blush  from  East  to  Wes* 
Till  the  West  is  East, 

Blush  it  thro'  the  West 
Rosy  is  the  West 

Rosy  is  the  South, 
Roses  are  her  cheeks. 
And  a  rose  her  mouth, 


ar  who  has  gone  fixr  a 

len  I  must  speak, 
oming  down, 

vhat  am  I 
:r  way  ; 
linion  sweet, 
is  lord  of  her  breast, 
utywith  tender  dread, 
b  arch  of  her  feet 
ht  and  light  as  the  crest 
ler  shining  head, 
_  O,  if  she  knew  it, 
ight  half  undo  it 
ht  thing  to  save 
le  wilds  of  Time, 
,  perhaps  from  crime, 
grave. 


in'd  to  this  fool  lord, 
y  her  word  ? 
:11  if  she 
a  thing  so  low? 
if  she 
re  it  even  forme? 


clamorous  heart, 
thrall  to  my  eye, 
re  we  part. 


I, 

lay, 

nmg  fields, 

day, 

en  yields. 

»t, 

outh, 

heeks, 

:r  mouth. 

i-Yes 

ler  lips, 

the  news 

ing  ships, 

as, 

est, 

news, 

the  West, 

I  dance 

lar-tree, 

I'sbabe 

the  sea. 

t  to  East, 

1st  to  West, 

East, 

the  West. 

t, 

uth, 

eeks, 

mouth, 


XVIII. 


AfAUD. 


I. 

I  HAVKled  her  home,  my  love,  my  only  friend. 
There  is  none  like  her,  none. 
And  never  yet  so  warmly  ran  my  blood 
And  sweetly,  on  and  on 

FSiS'if  k5J°  *!**  '°"Sr«h'd-for  end. 
Full  to  the  banks,  close  on  the  promised  good. 

2, 

None  like  her,  none. 

J"**  now^thedry-tongued  laurel's  pattering 

Seem'd  her  light  foot  along  the  garden  walk 
And  shook  my  heart  to  think  shf  comes  once 

more  ; 
But  even  theni  heard  her  close  the  door. 
The  gates  of  Heaven  are  closed,  and  she  is 


3* 
There  is  none  like  her,  none. 
Nor  will  be  when  oursummers  have  deceased. 
?'  u","'^",  ''ghing  for  Lebanon 

Eaf t    ""        •"■*"""  *"  ^^^  delicious 
Sighing  for  Lebanon, 

Dark  cedar,  tho'  thy  limbs  have  here  in- 
creased, "* 
Upon  a  pastoral  slope  as  fair. 
And  looking  to  the  South,  and  fed 
With  honey'd  rain  and  delicate  air 
And  haunted  by  the  starry  head 

faTe  ^^  ^*""*  "'"  '•''•  changed  my 
And  made'my  life  a  perfumed  altar-flame  ; 

"spread  ^^  '^"'"'''  ™""  »'«^« 

With  such  delight  2i  theirs  of  old,  thy  creat 
Forefathers  of  the  thornie^s  garden   tLr^ 
Shadowmg^e^snow-lim'o  ,  F!ve  from  whom 


«49 


Would^dle;  for  sullen  seeming  Death  may 

More  life  to  Love  than  is  or  ever  was 

In  our  low  world,  where  yet '?  is  sweet  to  live. 

h  leem°s",^,^'''l""'  \°^  "  «"»^  '»  pass;     ** 
It  seems  that  I  am  happy,  that  to  me 
A  livelier  emerald  twinkles  in   he  g.^ 
A  purer  sapphire  melts  into  the  se| 

7. 
Not  die  ;  but  live  a  life  of  truest  breath 

'    '"onV'  '"''  '°  '^«'^'    wTirtal 
O,  why^should  Love,  like  men  in  drinking. 

fe=,te^Sb,::^'"^'°^'^"">' 

Maud  m^e  my  Maud  by  that  long  lover's 

.Vil  °^  ™y  "'e-  wilt  thou  not  answer  this? 
The  dusky  strand.of  Death  inwoven  here 
"'SoJede^).'"'  '"^''-  ^-e  hiSf 


""'r]LJ  "*'  *''''«  these  long  branches 
sway, 

And  you  fair  stars  that  crown  a  happy  dav 
Go  m  and  out  as  if  at  merry  play,  ^^^  ^ 
Who  am  no  more  so  all  forlorn. 

Tn  r.h"  "  TH'''^  *""  '«=««■■  «o  be  bom 
To  labor  and  the  mattock-harden'd  hand 
Than  nm-^ed  at  ease  and  brought  to  under- 

Thll*^  **fo'°gy.  the  boundless  plan 
inat  makes  you  tyrants  in  your  iron  skiM 
Innumerable,  pijifess,  passionless  ey/s'"' 

H^i  n^tt-'  ^"^'^'^  P°*"  <°  buru  aid  brand 
ills  nothingness  into  man. 

But  now  shine  on,  and  what  care  I, 

vvho  in  this  stormy  gulf  have  found  a  oearl 

Andrr'"'''"""  °f  ^P="  and  hollow  sky. 
And  do  accept  my  madness  and  would  die 

lo  save  from  some  slight  shame  one  simple 


Of  thi  f" «=''»"'«'l  njoan  only  the  swell 
?L  1,  '""leaves  that  roll  In  yonder  bay? 
And  hark  iTie  clock  within,  the  silver  knell 

white?"'     "'"■''  """  P*"  '"  bridal 

^lf^}!'^u°}i!'-^'  '*"?8  »*  ™y  P"l»es  play  ; 
But  now  by  this  my  love  has  dosed  her  sieht 
And  gn,^„^false  death  her  hand,  and  stol'n 

To  dreamfiil  wastes  where  footless  fancies 

Among  the  fi-aements  of  the  golden  dav 

DeTr Crt  ^r'rr'^"j:'"^''^^»g'-^«  ^»^ght  1 
Mv  hriH^^'  i'^"'  '*'"'  ^^^^  "'«  drowsy  spell. 
My  bride  to  be,  my  evermore  delieht 
My  own  heart-8  heart  and  ownest  ov^n  iare- 

It  is  but  for  a  little  space  I  go 
And  ye  meanwhile  far  over  moor  and  fell 
beat  to  the  noiseless  music  of  the  night  I 
Has  our  whole  earth  gone  nearer  to  the  glow 
Of  your  soft  splendors  that  you  look  so  brilhtT 
/  have  chmb'd  nearer  out  of  lonely  Hel 
Beat,  happy  stars,  timing  with  things  be'ow. 
Beat  wuh  my  heart  more  blest  thanTieartMn 

Blest,  but' for  some  dark  undercurrent  woe 

Kt"a5"KS,trw7ll!'"'"*''"" -'"•"  = 

XIX. 


T. 

Hkr  brother  is  coming  back  to-nieht. 
Breaking  up  my  dream  of  delight. 

a. 
My  dream  >  do  I  dream  of  bliss  ? 
I  have  walk'd  awake  with  Truth. 
O  when  did  a  morning  shine 


Ho 


in 


So  rich  in  atonement  as  this 

I;  or  my  darlc-dawning  youth, 

iJarken'd  watching  a  mother  dedine 

And  that  dead  man  at  h4r  heart  and  mine  • 

For  who  was  left  to  watch  her  but  I?  ' 

Yet  so  did  I  let  my  freshness  die. 

3. 
I  trust  that  I  did  not  talk 
lo  gentle  Maud  in  our  walk 
{if  or  often  m  lonely  wanderings 
1  have  cursed  him  even  to  lifeless  things) 
But  I  trust  that  I  did  not  talk,  '^' 

Not  touch  on  her  father's  sin  : 
I  am  sure  I  did  but  speak 
Of  my  mother's  faded  cheek 
When  It  slowly  grew  so  thin, 
1  hat  I  felt  she  was  slowly  dyine 
Vext  with  lawyers  and  harass'd  with  debt : 

l^J""^^^^"^  ^  .""8'"  ^"  with  eyes  aU  wet 
Shaking  her  head  at  her  son  and  MKhine 
A  world  of  trouble  within  1  *'8ning 

4- 

And  Maud  too,  Maud  was  moved 

lo  speak  of  the  mother  she  loved 

As  one  scarce  less  forlorn, 

Dying  abroad  and  it  seems  apart 

*  rom  him  who  had  ceased  to  share  her  heart. 

And  ever  mourning  over  the  feud,  ' 

Rv  u,&  °'t  ^"'■>'  spritikled  with  blood 
ay  which  our  houses  are  torn  • 
How  strange  was  what  she  said. 
When  only  Maud  and  the  brother 

That  Maud's  dark  father  and  mine 

Had  bound  us  one  to  the  other, 

Betrothed  us  over  their  wine 

On  the  day  when  Maud  was  bom  ; 

seal  d  her  mine  from  her  first  sweet  breath 

Mine,  mine  by  a  right,  from  birth  till  death, 

Mine,  mine  -  our  fathers  have  sworn. 

But  the  true  blood  spilt  had  in  it  a  heat 
?h,f  "f°  7  '•'*  Precious,  seal  on  a  bond, 
Ind'^J^^'  "ncancell'd,.had  been  so  sweet  : 

A  de.ire  that  awoke  in  the  heart  of  the  chUd 
T^  Vf-"  5  "^Jf'y  d°"e  to  the  tomb,  ' 

And  I  w.?^'  fo"- her  sake,  to  be  reconciled; 
And  I  was  cursing  them  and  my  doom, 

vvniie  often  abroad  in  the  fragrant  gloom 
Bri^°h7f Ltr,  i!.\--i.'l«.«  '-  ^^"rr 


AfAUjy. 


■  n,;„i,;  e  !■  ,,..'  ~  '■  see  her  there. 
Bright  English  hly,  breathing  a  prayer 
lo  be  friends,  to  be  reconciled  ! 

6. 

But  then  what  a  flint  ■:  h^  f 

Abroad,  at  Florence^  atRome, 

I  hnd  whenever  she  touch'd  on  me 

I^:f  i':?'^«'■had  la.igh'd  her  down, 

M„  »,  V2'^*^*."."<='^  '^ame  home 
He  had  darken'd  into  a  frown, 


t  Chid  her,  and  forbid  hei-  to  speak 
lo  me,  her  friend  of  the  years  before  ; 

Wh-l  il***j''^l''*^  redden'd  her  cheefc. 
When  I  bow'd  to  her  on  the  moor.  ^ 

7. 
Yet  Maud,  altho'  not  blind 
fo  the  faults  of  his  heart  and  mind. 
I  see  she  cannot  but  love  him. 
And  says  he  is  rough  but  kind, 

AnHn'n^""^!" ''wove  him, 
And  tells  me,  when  she  lay 

8. 
Kind  ?  but  the  death-bed  desire 
Spum'd  by  this  heir  of  the  liar  - 
Rough  but  kind?  yet  I  know 

Th;??,l^'.°V'''*  *«.=''"'"  ""=  in  this. 
Ki  i  .    plots  against  me  still. 
Kind  to  Maud  ?  that  were  not  amiss. 
Well,  rough  but  kind  ;  why,  let  it  be  so  • 
For  shall  not  Maud  have  hw  will  ?         ' 


IJ, 

For,  Maud,  so  tender  and  true. 

As  long  as  my  life  endures 

i  leel  1  shall  owe  you  a  debt, 

1  hat  I  never  can  hope  to  pay  : 

And  if  ever  I  should  forget 

Ihat  I  owe  this  debt  to  you 

And  for  your  sweet  sake  to  yours  ; 

O  then,  what  then  shall  I  say?—  ' 

If  ever  I  jAok/o' forget. 

May  God  make  me  more  wretched 

Than  ever  I  have  been  yet  I 

10. 
So  now  I  have  sworn  to  bury 
All  this  dead  body  of  hate, 
i  feel  so  free  and  so  clear 
By  the  loss  of  that  dead  weight, 

Ln^Vsti^al?;'m^:^!■«'^'■''"'•^'^'If-^ 
But  that  her  brother  comes,  like  a  blight 
On  ray  fresh  hope,  to  the  Hail  to-night 

XX. 


Strange,  that  I  felt  so  gay. 
Strange,  that  I  tried  to-day 
4.°  beguile  her  melancholy  ; 
i/"*  Sultan,  as  we  name  him,  — 
bhe  did  not  wish  to  blame  him  — 
Bu   he  vex.  her  and  perplext  her 
With  his  worldly  talk  and  folly  : 
vyas  It  gentle  to  reprove  her 
^orstealingouto  view 
From  a  little  lazy  lover 
Who  but  claims  her  as  his  due? 
ur  (or  chilling  his  caresses 
By  the  coldness  of  her  manners, 
lay.  the  plainness  of  her  dream? 


'S'. 


hei"  to  speak 
the  years  before ; 
id  redden'd  her  cheelt 
on  the  moor. 


blind 

;art  and  mind, 
ove  him, 
but  kind, 
rove  him, 
le  lay 

of  worse, 

and  horses  and  play, 
ler,  night  and  day, 

nurse. 

led  desire 
"the  liar  — 
[  know 
me  in  this, 
ne  still, 
ere  not  amiss, 
why,  let  it  be  so  : 
ve  her  will  i* 

nd  true, 
res 

debt, 
to  pay  ; 
■get 

you 

:  to  yours  ; 
I  say.' —  ' 

e  wretched 
yet  I 


bury 

te, 

r 

weight, 

-headed,  I  fear, 

les,  like  a  blight 
i  Hail  to-night. 


ay, 
ay 

nim, — 

B  him  — 

lext  her 

folly  : 


i  due? 

nners, 
iresMf? 


MAUD. 


Now  I  know  her  but  in  two. 
Nor  can  pronounce  upon  it 
If  one  should  ask  me  whether 
The  habit,  hat,  and  feather. 
Or  the  frock  and  gypsy  bonnet 
I|e  the  neater  and  completer  ; 
For  nothing  can  be  sweeter 
Than  maiden  Maud  in  either. 

a. 

But  to-morrow,  if  we  live, 
Our  ponderous  squire  will  give 
A  grand  political  dinner 
To  half  the  squirelings  near  ; 
And  Maud  will  wear  her  jewels. 
And  the  bird  of  prey  will  hover. 
And  the  titmouse  hope  to  win  her 
With  his  chirrup  at  her  ear. 

3- 
A  grand  political  dinner 
To  the  men  of  many  acres, 
A  gathering  of  the  Tory, 
A  dinner  and  tlien  a  dance 
For  the  :naids  and  marriage-makers. 
And  every  eye  but  mine  will  glance 
At  Maud  in  all  her  glory. 


For  I  am  not  invited, 
But,  with  the  Sultan's  pardon, 
I  am  all  as  well  delighted, 
For  I  know  her  own  rose-garden. 
And  mean  to  linger  in  it 
Till  the  dancing  will  be  over ; 
And  then,  O  then,  come  out  to  me 
For  a  minute,  but  for  a  minute. 
Come  out  to  your  own  true  lover, 
That  your  true  lover  may  see 
Your  glory  also,  and  render 
AH  homage  to  his  own  darling, 
Queen  Maud  in  all  her  splendor. 


XXI, 

RivuLBT  crossing  my  ground, 

And  bringing  me  down  from  the  Hall 

1  his  garden-rose  that  I  found. 

Forgetful  of  Maud  and  me. 

And  lost  in  trouble  and  moving  romnd 

Here  at  the  head  of  a  tinkling  fall, 

And  trying  to  pass  to  tiie  sea  ; 

O  Rivulet,  born  at  the  Hall, 

My  Maud  has  sent  it  by  thee 

(If  I  read  her  sweet  will  right) 

On  a  blushing  mission  to  me, 

baying  in  odor  and  color,  "  Ah,  be 

Among  the  roses  to-night" 


Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 
For  the  black  bat,  night,  has  ilown. 

Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 
1  em  here  at  the  gate  alone ; 


151 


And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad. 
And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown. 


For  a  breeze  of  morning  moves, 
And  the  planet  of  Love  is  on  high, 

Beginning  to  faint  in  the  light  that  she  loves 
On  a  bed  of  daffodil  sky, 

To  faint  in  the  light  of  the  sun  she  loves. 
10  faint  m  his  light,  and  to  die. 

3- 
All  night  have  the  roses  heard 

The  flute,  violin,  basjoon  ; 
All  night  has  the  casement  jessamine  stirr'd 

i.0  the  dancers  dnnting  in  tune  ; 
Till  a  silence  fell  with  the  waking  bird. 

And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 

4- 
I  said  to  the  lily,  "  There  is  but  one 

With  whom  she  has  "heart  to  be  fay 
When  will  the  dancers  leavt  her  alone  ? 

She  IS  weary  of  dance  and  play." 
Now  half  to  the  setting  moon  are  gone 

And  half  to  the  rising  day  ; 
Low  on  the  sand  and  loud  on  the  stone 
1  he  last  wheel  echoes  away. 


I  said  to  the  rose,  "  The  brief  night  goes 

In  babble  and  revel  and  wine. 
O  young  lord-lover,  what  sighs  are  those, 

*  or  one  that  will  never  be  thine? 
But  mine,  but  mine,"  so  I  sware  to  the  rose, 
*  or  ever  and  ever,  mine. ' ' 

6. 
And  the  soul  of  the  rose  went  into  my  blood. 

As  the  music  clash'd  in  the  hall  • 
And  long  by  the  garden  lake  I  stood. 

For  I  heard  your  rivulet  fall 
From  the  lake  to  the  meadow  and  on  to  the 
wood, 
Our  wood,  that  is  dearer  than  all ; 


From  the  meadow  your  walks  have  left  so 

sweet 
That  whenever  a  March-wind  sighs 
He  sets  the  jewel-print  of  your  feet 
_  In  violets  blue  as  your  eyes, 
To  the  woody  hollows  in  which  we  meet 
And  the  valleys  of  Paiadits. 

8. 

The  slender  acacia  would  not  shake 

One  lon£  rnilk-blooni  on  the  trrr  * 
The  white  /ake-blossom  fell  into  the'  lake. 

As  the  pimpernel  dozed  on  the  lea  : 
But  the  rose  was  awake  all  night  for  youi 
sake, 

Knowing  your  promise  to  me  ; 
The  lilies  and  roses  were  all  awake, 

They  sigh'd  for  the  dawn  and  thee. 


iSi 


MAt/D. 


Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls, 
Come  hither,  the  dances  are  done, 

In  gloss  of  satin  and  glinlmer  of  pearls. 
Oueen  hly  and  rose  in  one  ; 

Shnie  out,  little  head,   sunning  over  with 

To  the  flowers,  and  be  their  sun. 


There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 
from  the  passion-tlower  at  the  gate 

blie  IS  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear ; 
bhe  IS  coming,  my  life,  my  fate; 

Ihe  red  rose  cries,  "She  is  near,  she  is 
near     ; 
And  the  white  rose  weeps,  "  She  is  late  "  ; 
A    J  u^P"'  listens,  "  I  hear,  I  hear  "  ■ 
And  the  lily  whispers,  '*  1  wait." 

II. 
She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet ; 
^ere  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread. 
My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat. 
Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed  ; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 
iir  ^""  ^°'"  *  century  dead  • 

Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet. 
And  blossom  m  purple  and  red. 


Ever  and  ever  afresh  they  seem'd  to  grow. 
Was  it  he  lay  there  with  a  fading  eyeV 

1  he  fault  was  mine, "  he  whisper'd,  "  flv  I  " 
Then  glided  out  of  the  joyous  wood       ^ 
The  ghastly  Wraith  of  one  that  I  know  ; 
And  there  rang  on  a  sudden  a  passionate 

cry, 
A  cry  for  a  brother's  blood  : 

"die"!ill"ldie''*''^"'°''  my  ears,  till  I 


XXIII. 


The  fault  was  mine,  the  fault  was  mine  "  — 
Why  am  I  sitting  here  so  stunn'd  and  still, 
Plucking  the  harmless  wild-flower  on  the 

hill  ?  — 
It  is  this  guilty  hand  !  — 
And  there  rises  ever  a  passionate  cry 
trom  underneath  in  the  darkening  land  — 
What  IS  It,  that  has  been  done  ? 
O  dawn  of  Eden  bright  over  earth  and  sky, 
Ihe  fires  of  Hell  brake  out  of  thy  risme 
sun,  '  ° 

The  fires  of  Hell  and  of  Hate  ; 
For  she,  sweet  soul,  had  hardly  spoken  a 

word, 
Wiien  her  brother  ran  in  his  rage  to  the  eate 
He  came  with  the  babe-faced  lord; 
Heap  d  on  hei'  terms  of  disgrace, 
And  while  she  wept,  and  I  strove  to  be  cool. 
",«  fiercely  gave  me  the  lie, 
-l  ill  I  with  as  fierce  an  anger  spoke, 
And  he  struck  me,  madman,  over  the  face. 
\xn        ""^  before  the  languid  fool, 
Who  was  gaping  and  grinning  by :  | 

ur        ,^°'  '""^'self  an  evil  stroke :  I 

Wrought  for  his  house  an  irredeemable  woe ; 
for  tront  to  front  in  an  hour  we  stood. 
And  a^  million    horrible   bellowing   echoes  I 

:.-reKC  j 

A   j"Ii!''^T^t,"'''^'^'^°""w  behind  the  wood. 
And  thunder'd  up  into  Heaven  the  Christ-  I 

less  code. 
That  must  have  life  for  a  blow.  ' 


Is  it  gone  ?  my  pulses  beat  — 

What  was  it?  a  lying  trick  of  the  brain? 

Yet  I  thought  I  saw  her  stand, 

A  shadow  there  at  my  feet, 

High  over  the  shadowy  land. 

It  IS  gone :  and  the  heavens  fall  in  a  gentle 

When  they  should  burst  and  drown  with  del- 

uging  storms 
The  feeble  vassals  of  wine  and  anger  and 

The  little  hearts  that  know  not  how  to  for- 

.      g've: 
Arise,  my  God,  and  strike,  for  we  hold  Thee 

just. 
Strike  dead  the  whole  weak  race  of  venom- 

ous  worms. 
That  sting  each  other  here  in  the  durt : 
We  are  not  worthy  to  live. 


XXIV. 


Seb  what  a  lovely  shell, 
Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lyir.g  close  to  my  foot. 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine. 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  "spire  and  whorl, 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design  1 

What  is  it?  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 
Let  him  name  it  who  can. 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 

^.      .  3- 

The  tmy  cell  is  foriom, 

Void  of  the  little  living  will 

That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 

Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 

Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 

Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncuri'd, 

A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 

Thro'  his  dim  watcr-worid  ? 


Slight,  to  be  erush'd  with  a  tap 
Of  niy  finger-nail  on  the  sand, 
small,  but  a  work  divine, 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand, 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 


h  they  seera'd  to  ctow. 
with  a  feding  eye? 
!,"hewhisper'd,  "fly  |  •» 
the  joyous  wood 
of  one  that  1  know  ; 
a  sudden  a  passionate 

I  blood  : 

eart  and  my  ears,  till  I 


2. 

5  beat  — 

!  trick  of  the  brain? 

her  stand, 

y  feet, 

wy  land. 

heavens  fall  in  a  gentle 

irst  and  drown  with  del- 

f  wine  and  anger  and 

know  not  how  to  for- 

trike,  for  we  hold  Thee 

:  weak  race  of  venom- 

here  in  tlie  dujt ; 
bve. 

IV. 


arl, 
1  whorl, 


lan 

name. 

in, 

le  same. 


will 
I  shore, 
nond  door 
pw  frill? 
as  uncurl'd, 
horn 
Id? 


Iia  tap 
sand, 

tistand, 
k 


MAUD. 


Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock. 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand  J 

S- 
Breton,  not  Briton  ;  here 
Like  a  shipwreck'd  man  on  a  coast 
Of  ancient  fable  and  fear,  — 
Plagued  with  a  flitting  to  gnd  fro, 
A  disease,  a  hard  mechanic  ghost 
That  never  came  from  on  high 
Nor  ever  arose  from  below, 
But  only  moves  with  the  moving  eye, 

f,y>"g  along  the  land  and  the  main.  — 

Why  should  it  look  like  Maud? 

Am  I  to  1     overawed 

By  what  I  cannot  but  know 

Is  a  juggle  bom  of  the  brain  ? 

6. 
Back  from  the  Breton  coast, 
Sick  of  a  nameless  fear, 
Back  to  the  dark  sea-line 
Looking,  thinking  of  all  I  have  lost ; 
An  old  song  vexes  my  ear ; 
But  that  of  Lamech  is  mine. 

7- 
For  years,  a  measureless  ill, 
For  years,  forever,  to  part,— 
But  she,  she  would  love  me  still : 
And  as  long,  O  God,  as  she 
Have  a  gra;.i  of  lovt  for  me, 
So  long,  no  doubt,  no  doubt, 
Sliall  I  nurse  in  my  dark  heart. 
However  weary,  a  spark  of  will 
JNot  to  be  trampled  out. 

c  *• 

w"i"^*'  *''^'  ""*  '"'"«'>  when  fraught 

With  a  passion  so  intense 

One  would  think  that  it  well 

Might  drown  all  life  in  the  eye,  — 

Q  "at  It  should,  by  being  so  overwrought. 

Suddenly  strike  on  a  sharper  sense 

For  a  shell,  or  a  flower,  little  things 

Which  else  would  have  been  pastTjy  I 

And  now  I  remember,  I,  ' 

When  he  lay  dying  there, 

i  noticed  one  of  his  many  rings 

Khis  mother's"U!°'  """"^  '""^  '''""S'" 

9- 

Who  knows  if  he  be  dead  ? 

whether  I  need  have  fled? 
Am  I  guilty  of  blood? 
However  this  may  be, 

WhT?  i'^'-  ^°™(''"^  ''«'■'  3"  'hings  good. 
While  I  am  over  the  seal 
jjct  mc  and  luy  passionate  love  go  by. 
But  speak  to  her  all  things  holy  and  tigh. 
Whatever  happen  to  me  I  ^  ^  ' 

Me  and  my  harmful  love  go  by  ; 

Pow^r^^f  ?v,''l'  ^?''"'^'  ^"'^  »■"  a=^'«p, 
xZT  °[  ^t ''«'?''*•  Powers  of  the  deep, 
And  comfort  her  tho'  I  die. 


IJ) 


XXV. 


CoiTRAGE,  poor  heart  of  stone  I 
I  will  not  ask  thee  why 
Thou  canst  not  understand 
1  hat  thou  art  left  forever  alone : 

k°"r^P'  P"?""  ^'"P''*  heart  of  stone.  — 
Or  if  I  ask  thee  why, 
1  Care  not  thou  to  reply ; 
She  is  but  dead,  and  the  time  is  at  hand 
When  thou  shah  more  than  die. 

XXVI. 

I. 

O  THAT  't  were  possible 
After  long  grief  and  pain 

To  find  the  arms  of  my  true  lovo     ^^ 
Round  me  once  again  I 

2. 

When  I  was  wont  to  meet  her 
In  the  silent  woody  places 
By  the  home  that  gave  me  birth. 
We  stood  tranced  in  long  embraces 
Mixt  with  kisses  sweeter  sweeter 
Than  anything  on  earth. 


J* 

A  shadow  flits  before  me, 

Not  thou,  but  like  to  thee  ; 

Ah  Chnst,  that  it  were  possible 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 

The  souls  we  loved,  that  they  might  tell  us 

What  and  where  they  be. 

4> 
It  leads  me  forth  at  evening, 
It  lightly  winds  and  steals 

\xru  '^°'^  '*'hi'e  robe  before  me, 
When  all  my  spirit  reels 
At  the  shouts,  the  leagues  of  lights, 
And  the  roaring  of  the  wheels. 

Half  the  night  I  waste  in  sighs. 
Half  in  dreams  I  sorrow  after 
The  delight  of  early  skies ; 
In  a  wakeful  doze  I  sorrow 
For  the  hand,  the  lips,  the  eyes. 
For  the  meeting  cf  the  morrow, 
rhe  de  ight  of  happy  laughter, 
Ihe  ualight ,  ;  low  leolies. 


And  a  dew 


•\ 


T  w  a  mo  nine  ^m\:  ajid  sweet, 

Jew  'iplcr.u.T  fai's 
On  the  Iit'k  "owe'  thatc'ings 


T^  «»,«  ..._-  J  ..  .. - 

,«;'.'  "-irrvij  ciia  uic  Tva'is; 
I  is  a  morning  pure  and  i^.veet, 
Anrf  j.e  light  and  shadow  fleet ; 
Sh»  IS  walking  in  the  meadow. 
And  the  woodland  echo  rines  ; 
In  a  moment  we  s!.all  mrer; 
She  is  singing  in  the  metdow, 
And  the  nvulet  at  her  ftet 


n 


»i4 

To  the  ballad  that  she  sings. 

7.    , 

Do  I  hear  her  sing  as  of  old. 
My  bird  with  the  shining  head, 

My  own  dove  with  thf.  tender  eye? 
Kut  there  rings  on  a  sudden  a  pisionati. 
Ihere  is  some  one  dying  or  dead, 
And  a  sullen  thunde?  is  roll'd  • 
tor  a  tumult  shakes  the  city.  ' 

V,l,u    11*¥j  "?y  '^■•""'  's  fled  : 
uMi     shuddering  dawn,  behold 
VVitliou,  knovicfge,  withou"ph;, 
T^  '''^S'lr'ai'is  of  my  bed     ^  ^' 
inat  abiding  phantom  cold. 

8. 
Get  th-e  hence,  nor  come  again. 
Mi.v  r,ot  memory  with  doubt. 

Pass,  thou  deathlike  type  of  pain, 
Fass  "Od  c«se  to  move  about, 

lis  the  blot  upon  the  brain 
1  hat  wM  show  itself  without. 

9. 

Then  I  rise,  the  eavedrops  falL 

And  the  yellow  vapors  clioke 

1  he  great  city  sounding  wide  ; 

ihe  day  comes,  a  dull  red  ball 

Wrapt  in  drifts  of  lurid  smoke 
<Jn  the  misty  river-tide. 

10. 
Thro'  the  hubbub  of  the  market 
1  steal,  a  wasted  frame, 

1  w''n^l'"*•  '■'  <=™sses  there, 

i  hro  all  that  crowd  confused  and  loud 

The  shadow  still  the  same  ;  ' 

And  on  my  heavy  evelids 

My  anguish  hangs  like  shame. 

II. 

Alas  for  her  that  met  me, 
1  hat  heard  me  softly  call, 
t^ame  glmimering  thro"  the  laurels 
At  the  quiet  evenfikll, 

nrlK^f,'^''"^y'''e  turrets 
Of  the  old  manorial  hall. 

12. 

F^^ill'l,!''*  ''*,PPy  *P'"'  descend, 
T„T   ^f  '^J''"^  °^^'eht  and  song, 
A      u  ^"^'"'t'er  or  the  street. 
As  she  looks  among  the  blest. 

Or  to  sav  '•  forgive  the  wrong." 
Or  to  ask  her,  "take  me  sweet, 
10  the  regions  of  thy  rest "  ? 

But  the  broarl  IiVtit  n-i^^...  _„ j  u... 

And  the  shadowTits%"nd  'fleets         ' 
And  will  not  let  me  be ; 

Anrf  thi°?"'^  "1=  ^"""  »"d  streets, 
And  the  faces  that  one  meets, 


AfAt/r>. 


cry, 


Hearts  with  no  love  for  me  • 
Always  I  long  to  creep 
into  some  still  cavern  deep, 
ihere  to  weep,  and  weep,  and  ween 
My  whole  soul  out  to  thee.  ^ 

XXVII. 


Dhad,  long  dead, 
Long  dead  ! 

AnH  ^l  ''!?'■','''  "  ''»"<^'""'  °f  dust, 

Beat  into  my  scalp  and  my  b  ain 

With  never  an  end  to  the'streanl  of  passing 

Driving,  hurrying,  marrying,  burvine 

Anrf  r  ^"k  "'"'y^-  ='"d  ringing^and'clatter 
And  here  beneath  it  is  all  rs  bad  * 

For  I. bought  the  dead  had  Se.  but  it  i. 

To  have^no  peace  in  the  grave,  i.s  that  not 

But  up  and  down  and  to  and  fro. 

f  nH',h''°"/  r  '^^  ^^^^  "en  go'; 
And  then  to  hear  a  dead  man  chatter 
Is  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 


Wretchedest  age,  since  Time  began 
Ihey  cannot  even  bury  a  man  ■. 

a?egoir''°"''"'^^^'°""=<^^y«that 

There  is  none  that  does  his  wn.-v  „„» 
^.:°-h  °f 'heir  offic°e"mighrhte"uffic"eV 

church"'  ^''"  ^'°"'''   '''"   'h^'^ 

As  the  churches  have  kill'd  their  Christ. 

3- 

See,  there  is  one  of  us  sobbine 

No  limit  to  his  distress  • 

And  another,  a  lord  of  ^11  things,  prayine 

[o  his  own  great  self,  as  I  guefs  •        '^    *^ 
And  another,  a  statesman  there,  betraying 
His  party-secret,  fool,  to  the  press    ^^ 
And  yonder  a  vile  physician,  blabbing 
'7v!-ST  f  '"^  patient,^  all  for  what' 
aIT^I''  ']•«  "maggot  born  in  an  empty  head 
And  wheedle  a  world  that  loves  him  not 
For  it  IS  but  a  world  of  the  dead  ' 


Nothing  but  idiot  gabble  I 

tor  the  prophecy  given  of  old 

And  then  not  understood. 

Has  come  to  pass  as  foretold  ; 

Not  let  any  man  think  for  the  public  good. 


ndful  of  dust, 
'er  my  head, 
aken  with  pain, 
ave  they  are  thrust 
the  street, 
horses  beat,  beat, 
>es  beat, 
d  my  brain, 
the  stream  of  passing 

irrying,  burying, 

'id  ringing  and  clatter, 

5  all  r.s  bad, 

d  had  peace,  but  it  is 


US  loud  m  the  world 


ill'd  their  Christ. 


But  babble,  merely  for  babble. 
For  I  never  whisper'd  a  private  affair 
Within  the  hearing  of  cat  or  mouse. 
No,  not  to  myseU  in  the  closet  alone. 
But  I  heard  it  shouted  at  once  from  the  top 
of  the  house  ;  '^ 

Everything  came  to  be  known  ; 
Who  told  Aim  we  were  there  ? 

S- 
Not  that  gray  old  wolf,  for  he  came  not  back 
From  the  wi  derness,  full  of  wolves,  where 

he  used  to  lie  ; 
He  has  gather'd  the  bones  for  his  o'ergrown 

whelp  to  crack  ; 
Crack  them  now  for  yourself,  and  howl,  and 
die.  ' 

6. 
Prophet,  curse  me  the  blabbing  lip, 
And  curse  me  the  British  vermin,  the  rat ; 
I  know  not  whether  he  came  in  the  Hanover 

ship, 
But  I  know  that  he  lies  and  listens  mute 
in  an  ancient  mansion's  crannies  and  holes  • 
Arsenic,  arsenic,  sure,  would  do  it, 
iixcept  that  now  we  poison  our  babes,  poor 

It  is  all  used  up  for  that. 


Maud. 


155 


That  were  a  public  merit,  far. 
Whatever  tlie  Quaker  holds,  from  sin  ; 
Hut  the  red  life  spilt  for  a  private  blow  — 

irT^f  '°,y°"'  '^^^".'  and  lawless  wa" 
Are  scarcely  even  akin, 

II. 

^  "''enoughT*  "'"^  "°'  ''""'"^  "•«  ''"P 

Is  it  kind  to  have  made  me  a  grave  so  rough. 

Me,  that  was  never  a  quiet  sleeper  .>        ^  ' 

Maybe  still  I  am  but  iValf-dead  ; 

Ihen  I  cannot  be  wholly  dumb  ■ 

1  will  cry  to  the  steps  above  my  head. 

"  come     ^'  '""■''^'  """"^  """^  ''"rt  '^i" 
To  bury  me,  bury  me 
Deeper,  ever  so  little  deeper. 

XXVIII. 


she  is  standing  here  at  my 


Tell  him  now 

head; 
Not  beautiful  now,  not  even  kind ; 

"'her  mind!'  """^  "  '""''  '*''  "'^''  ^^'^ 
But  is  ever  the  one  thing  silent  here. 
She  IS  not  of  us,  as  I  divine; 

'^X'^d '"'"''"'  ""°'*'^''  ^''"er  world  of  the 
Stiller,  not  fairer  than  mine. 

8. 
But  r  know  where  a  garden  grows. 
Fairer  than  aught  in  the  wor%  beside, 
All  made  up  of  the  lily  and  rose 

T7t l^^r  \  "'<■«]"•  ';''*'"  "'<>  «=ason  is  good, 
lo  the  sound  of  dancing  music  and  flutis- 
It  IS  only  flowers  they  Ld  no  fruits,  " 

blood""       ■■      *^  ^''  "°'  '°^"'  *'"» 

But  what  will  the  old  man  say? 
He  laid  a  cruel  snare  in  a  pit 

Yet'^o^  ^^  °f  ">'"«  «"«  "t^rmy  day : 


Ihro  cells  of  madness,  haunts  of  horror  and 
fear, 

'^^^^  thin'"^  '°  ^*  ^"'^'"'  *'  '^'  '"'■ "  ^'"'e 

My  mood  is  changed,  for  it  fell  at  a  time  of 
year 

^''*" downs'"  of  night  is  fair  on  the  dewy 

And  the  shining  daffodil  dies,  and  the  Chari- 

ofeer 
And  starry  Gemini  hang  like  glorious  crowns 
?h^J  ,?."°"^-F^^^f.  '°^  down%  the  weT 
ShpUit^M  !''!?•'  .''8^'"ing  "nder  the  sta^s 
She  seem  d  to  divide  m  a  dream  from  a  band 

of  the  blest. 
And  spoke  of  a  hope  for  the  world  in  the 
«  a    .coming  wars  — 
And  in  that  hope,  dear  soul,  let  trouble 

have  rest, 

*'ivfarl  *'"''^  '°''  """''"  ""'^  P"'"*^''  '° 
As  he  glow'd  like  a  ruddy  shield  on  the 
liion's  breast. 


i?/  wnat  will  the  old  man  say 

pi??^°'"**  *°  '''^  *^*^°"^  *^°'T'*«  '"  'he 

Friend,  to  be  .stnick  by  the  public  foe 
TbM  to  stnke  him  anl  lay  fim  low°  ' 


^"^  "d^l?  ht"* '  ^'^'""'' ''"  ''  ^'•'''^*°  *  d«3r 
To  have  look'd,  tho'  but  in  a  dream,  upon 
eyes  so  fair,  ^ 

'brl  h**"  '"  ^  ^*^'7  world  my  one  thing 

And  it  was  but  a  dream,  yet  it  lightened  mv 
despair  ' 

When  I  tliought  that  a  war  would  arise  in 
defence  of  the  right, 

1  hat    an     irnn    ftrr^nn..    ni—    -1 i«     •  ? 

.. — ....J,  norr  afiutna  aend  or 

cease, 

^^^  ^hef  h^  ™*"''ood  stand  on  his  ancient 
Nor  Britain'i  one  sole  God  be  the  million- 
Nc  more  shall  commerce  be  aU  in  all,  and 


<j6 


\- 


ll 


HI 


^°'  '^^h^^^f  ""on-buUet  rost  on  a  slothful 
And  the  wbweb  woven  across  the  cannon's 
Shall  shake  its  threaded  team  in  the  wind  no 


Tff£  BROOK. 


And  as  months  ran  on  and  rumor  of  battle 

"said^i"  "  '™«.  OP'^sionate  heart," 

^y  ^tdTr'ifeSr  *''''"  *•"**  ^  '■''^' '''  ''*'  P"'« 
"It  is^time,  O  passionate  heart  and  morbid 

That   old'_  hysterical   mock-disease    should 
With  a  loyal  people  shouting  a  battle  crv 

t^'tv/h^a^r*'^'"'''^"^^--^'' 

AnS'  ''^'^'""''  '"onstrous,  not  to  be  told  • 
unrolPdr"  '°  """  banner  of  baule 

And  msny  a  darkness  into  the  light  shall 

^""^  '  name^  '''*'  ""^''"'  "'*'''"8  «>f  *Pl"did 
^^  'l^\  thought  be  freer  under  the  sun 
And  the  heart  of  a  people  beat  wilh  orde- 

^VtraiJn'i^'^""''' -•--.» 
"""'"ia^eV''""^  "'»«'-'' and  the 
^^^  *'^![|^^f^-Krin'»«g  mouths  of  the  fortress 
The  bloodied  blossom  of  war  with  a  heait 


'  "''' wlrLtEinT  "'^'^^  """^  ^  "»  <«« 
THE  BROOK; 

AN  IDYL. 

"  "^'f  a^y  ">'«  ^'■°ok.  we  parted ;  I  to  tha 
And  he  for  Italy  -  too  late  -  too  late  • 
One  whom  the  strong  sons  of  \h°  world  de- 

^°'  '  shSe^^"'"  '°  ''''"■  *"«  ""'P  »nd 

Nor  cSh'  """7'  "'"'■'=  """  «nt  f°>-cent ; 
TK  ui  •  "^  ""derstni.d  how  money  breerf. 
Thought^n^adead  thing;  yet  hiScoul!} 

o'h.!l'{.°/.-''^i  i%"°'  ^«  "'e  thing  that  is 
O  had  he  lived  1  In  our  school  books  we  sav 
Of  those jhat  held  their  heads  above  ?h'e 

r!!nf*^''°""'^^''  "'^"  <"■  O'en  :  but  life  in  him 
Could  scarce  be  said  to  flourish,  on ly  toucl'd 
2"  ""cb  a  t,me  as  goes  before  the  leaf? 
^^f "  ^".'be  wood  stands  in  a  mis  of  green 
Fn,     V  .'"?  Pu'*^"  =  >'«'  'be  brook  he  foved' 
For  which  m  branding  summers  of  Beneal 
Or  ev'n^the  sweet  hatf-English  Neilghe^S 

pf/»r^'^\l""'^'  ^  ^  re-lisfen  to  it 
Prattlmg  the  pnmrose  fancies  of  the  bov 
To  mejhat  loved  him;  for    O  brook."^'  he 

'°  ^\*h'yme  '"■°°''''  '*^'  ^'''""°''  '"  bi. 
'"^'Tot^Tp^-'  ^"'^  *''«•'-<'''.  *by 

'rma%'JTsute°[ir' '"''""'• 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 
1  o  bicker  down  a  viUley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 
Or  shp  between  the  ridges, 

V''/u*U''°J'P^  »  little  toT^m, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 

i  o  join  the  brimming  river. 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go,. 

But  I  go  on  forever. 


^  ''ifkeT^^?^  ""*  *'»«  -•'  -"  «lown 

We  have  nrnvAri  n.^  k. i ..  _• 

^   _,    wekrenobleVtiIl7""""''°'=*"^' 

f'^TtteriT^'^''''"'''^"-' *»»»"' 

•"  ''.r the  aff'*''''°'  *'  «"*'*'•  "''°  '«  «» 


"  ^°o°uV^'''  **'  '*'**' ''  Florence,  quite  worn 
'^'■''"  briie?  ^'P''"-     ^''•"'  »  Damley 

^'.J'^i  "^"uP.-'V  i.  'bere  the  river  ;  and  there 
Stands  Philin's  farm  »»,»,-  i 1,   '„j  _'~ 

meet.  "  '"°  ""= 


'=r 


I  chatter  over  stony  ways 
T  i!"Ju,''*  *barps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddyjnr;  bays, 
I  babble  on  th«  pcbbiM, 


jy  native  hnd,  I  am  one 
oseofGod,andthedooiii 


50k,  we  parted;  I  to  the 

too  late  —  too  late  : 

ig  sons  of  the  world  de- 

to  him"  were  scrip  and 

more  than  cent  for  cent; 
tai.d  how  money  breeds' 
ling  ;  yet  himself  could 

as  the  thing  that  is. 
)ur  school  books  we  say 
their  heads  above  the 

or  then;  but  life  in  him 
to  flourish,  only  touch 'd 
es  before  the  leaf, 
ands  in  a  mist  of  green, 
yet  the  brook  he  loved, 


re-listen  to  it, 

:  fancies  of  the  boy, 

n  ;  for    O  brook,'  he 

says  Edmund  in  hii 

and  the  brook,  why 


THE  BROOK. 


With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  1  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  eo. 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

"  B"'  Philip  chatter'd  more  than  brook  or 
bird  ; 
Old  Philip  ;  all  about  the  fields  you  caught 

His  weary  daylong  chirping,  like  the  dry 
High-elbow'd  grigs  that  leap  in  summer  grass. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out. 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

A  J  L^  ^"^  "'*■■*  *  '"*ty  'rout. 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel, 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 
io  join  the  brimming  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  mav  eo 
But  I  go  on  forever.  ' 

"O  darling  Katie  Willows,  his  one  child  I 
A  maiden  of  pur  century,  yet  most  meek  ; 
SfSf"  f*^"  v'  '"endows,  yet  not  coarse ; 
straight,  but  as  lissome  as  a  hazel  wand  • 
Her  eyes  a  bashful  azure,  and  her  hair 
in  gloss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 
Divides  threefold  to  show  the  fruit  within 

"Sweet  Katie,  once  I  did  her  a  good  turn 

TimeV'w'^Il''^'-°'^'°"^"»  ^"^  betfotJied,     ' 
James^Willows,  of  one  name  and  heart  with 

^°'  ''week  "™*'  ***"*^  ^"^^  '"'='''  -  "'e 

B^fh^^  ?.?k'^j*'"'J'.°°'  Edmund;  crost 
III  mL.   ^'l^^"  ^^'""h  •'^'f '"  ^"i"s  then, 
W?^  v"  'J'"*""?  eyebrow  for  the  gleam 
Beyond  it,  where  the  waters  marry -crost 
Whistling  a  random  bar  of  Bonny  Doon 
And  p^u£d  at  Philip's  garden-gate     The 

Halt^parted  from  a  weak  and  scol-^'ne  hin?e 
Stuck;  and,  he  clamor'd  from  a  clemem, 

Fresh  apple-blossom,  blushing  for  a  boon. 

"^seV  '*■    '***  °'"  ''="'''"'="'  than 

Who  JL'hKi-'  " •'  ''i''*™"= :  "either  one 
Who  dabbling  m  the  fount  of  Active  tears 
And  nursed  ly  mealy-moutlied  philan.hro- 
pies, 

Ojvow  the  Feeling  from  her  mate  the  Deed. 


»S7 

"^''rVS'"^hy?'^'""'J^'""''«'l<l"ar. 

What  cause  of  quarrel  ?    None,  she  said,  no 

cause ;  ' 

James  had  no  cause:  but  when  I  prest  tha 

Ilearnt  that  Tames  had  flickering  jealousies 
Which  anger''d  her.    Who  anger^d'james?  i 

^"'  ^minef"'"''''*  ''"  'y"  =*'  °'"=«  fr°» 

Sn,^- fi*'^''"]^  '*'"'  ^"  "lender-pointed  foot 
Some  figure  like  a  wizard's  pentagram 
On  garden  gravel,  let  my  query  pfS 
Undaim  d,  in  flushing  silence,  tfll  I  ask'd 
If  James  were  coming.    '  Coming  everyday  ' 
She  answer'd,  'ever  fonglng  to  explain      ^' 
But  evermore  her  father  came  across     ' 

smne  long-winded  tale,  and  broke  him 

And  James  departed  vext  with  him  and  her  • 
How  could  I  help  her. >    'Would  I -was  it 
wrong?'  "■ 

(Claspt  hands  and  that  petitionary  grace 
Of  sweet  seventeen  subdued    me  ere  she 

spoke) 
'  O  would  I  take  her  father  for  one  hour, 
*  or  one  half-hour,  and  let  him  talk  to  me  I ' 
And  even  while  she  spoke,  I  saw  where 

James 
Made  towards  us,  like  a  wader  in  tlie  surf. 
Beyond  the  brook,  waist-deep  in  meadow- 
sweet. 

"  O  Katie,  what  I  suffer'd  for  your  sake  I 

To'.h"  '  r"J  '"'^  ""'d  old  Phifip  ou?  '  ' 
lo  sW  the  farm  :  full  willingly  he  rose  • 
He  led^me  thro' the  short  l^et-smeliing 

Of  his  wheat  suburb,  babbling  as  he  went 
HeSdh^'^^'^i^'^er^esThismachines; 
^  hi  dogs  j^'""^""'-  '"'"  =°*''  •>''  1»°«''' 
"•^P^jj^ed  his' hens,  his  geese,  his  guinea- 

Ant?'^^j"if'  "^^3  in.  session  on  their  roofs 
xKenZm^r-  h*'"« ""'  't«'^  °'^"  deserts : 
eSch         ^^•"ddenng  puppies,  naming 

And  naming  those,  his  friends,  for  whom 

they  were  : 
Then  crost  the  common  into  Damley  chase 

Tv.fnkled^thi^-'''"'''-''''*=!r    Incopseandfem 
IV  -nkled  the  innumerable  ear  and  tail 
1  hen,  seated  on  a  serpent-rooted  beech, 

•  Tha?  w^o  Tk  ""  P,='«f"'-'"KcoIt,  and  said  : 
Ihat  was   the    four-year-old  I    sold    the 
squire.' 
And  there  he  told  a  loni?.  ]nn,r.v^;-.A^A  ►,!. 
Ui  liow  the  squire  had  seen  the  ccU  at  erass 
And  how  It  was  the  thing.his  daughter  wfsh'J; 
And  how  he  sent  the  bailiflf  to  the  farm 

aTk'd     ^''"^^'  *"''  *''^'  "'*  P""  •»« 

Rufh'l°.l*''}j'^""^  ^T""**  'l'^'  he  wasmsl, 
But  he  stood  firm  ;  and  so  the  matter  hur.c 
He  gave  them  Une  :  and  five  days  after  thai 


«5« 


THE  LETTERS. 


I!      j.  ; 


\i     '■      >\ 


'i       i 


HI 


w 


He  met  the  bailiffa*  the  Golden  Fleece, 
•Vho  then  and  there  had  offer'd  somethinjt 

more,  ' 

But  he  stood  firm  ;  and  so  the  matter  hung: 
rte  knew  the  man  ;  the  colt  would  fetch  its 

price  ; 
He  gave  them  line  :  and  how  by  chance  at 

(It  might  be  May  or  April,  he  forgot, 
1  he  last  of  April  or  the  first  of  May) 
He  found  the  bailiff ,, ding  by  the  farm. 
And,  talking^rom  the  point,  he  drew  him  in, 
And  there  he  mellow'd  all  his  heart  with  ale 
Until  they  closed  a  bargain,  hand  in  hand. 

"  ^''he"'  ^"^''^  ^  breathed  in  sight  of  haven, 
Poor  fellow,  could  he  help  it?  recommenced, 

W^f/w-  .'"'S  ^'   "^•=  =°"'^''  chronicle, 
^}^  Will,  Black  Bess,  Tantivy.  Tallyho. 
Reform,  White  Rose,  Belleropfion,  the  J   t 
Arbaces  and  Phenomenon,  and  the  rest,       ' 
i  ill,  not  to  die  a  listener,  I  arose. 
And  with  me  Philip,  talking  still ;  and  so 
An,l  f  ^     °'"  foreheads  from  the  falling  sun, 
And  following  our  own  shadows  thrice  af  lone 
As  when  they  follow'd  us  from  Philip's  door 
Arrived,  and  found  the  sun  of  sweet  content' 
Re-nsen  in  Katie's  eyes,  and  all  things  we"l 


Old  waifs  of  rhyme,  and  bowing  o'er  the  brook 
A  tonsured  head  in  middle  age  forlorn 
Mused,  and  was  mute.     On  a  sudden  a  low 

breath 
Of  tender  air  made  tremble  in  the  hed™ 
Ihe  fi  agile  bindweed-bells  and  briony  rines- 
And  he  look'd  up.    There  stood  amX' 

ncsrf 

On  eyes  a  bashful  azure,  and  on  hair 
in  ^loss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 
Divides  threefold  to  show  ihe'  fruit  within  f 
^'SrmT''' "•''''  ''"•  •■^'«y°"from 
"  Yss,"  „nswer'd  she.     "  Pray  stay  a  little : 


pardon  me ; 
t  do  they  call  you  ? 


"  No  1 ' 


I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers  ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

Inatgrow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  sliPi  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmu.  under  moon  and  stars 

In  b'ambly  wildernesses  ; 
1  linee  •  by  my  shingly  bars  ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses  ; 

■A^  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
F<^  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

riut  I  go  on  forever. 

Yes,  men  may  come  and  go ;   and  these  are 

gone. 
All  gone.    My  dearest  brother,   Edmund, 

w      u  *T'' 

rvot  by  the  well-known  stream  and  rustic 

spire. 
But  unfamiliar  Amo,  and  the  dome 

Pn„r  pkn""''^'  =„^l^.^P^  ■"  peace  :  and  he, 
Poor  Phihp,  of  all  his  lavish  waste  of  words 
Remains  the  lean  P.  W.  on  his  tomb  : 
I  scraped  the  lichen  fi-om  it :  Katie  walks 
By  the  long  wash  of  Australasian  seas 

Far  oflT  apH  K„ij„  v, i,..  j  .       ., 

Ar,j  C  "  u  •••.•■•••  "■^'  '^'^'•■■-i  '"  omcr  Stars, 
And  breathes  in  converse  seasons.    All  are 
gone." 

r„^.K^?'^'?",^5'^'"e'-,  seated  on  a  stile 
10  th«  loqg  hedge,  and  rolling  iq  his  mipa 


i  ■: 


What  do  they  call  you?"    "Katie"    "That 
wu  .  **■■=  strange. 
What  surname?"      "Willows. 
<<  T  J  "  "^''a'  '^  "'y  name." 
Indeed  I  "  and  here  he  look'd  so  self-pcr- 
plext,  ^ 

^^^^  till'he  '*"^'''^'  *"''  'aughing  blush'd, 
Lauglid  also,  but  as  one  before  he  wakes. 
WHO  ieels  a  glimmering  strangeness  in  his 
dream. 

^'''"  fai'r'''''*^  ^'  ^^''''  "  °°  ''*PP^'  '^^^■''^  *"'* 
Too  fresh  and  fair  in  our  sad  world's  best 
bloom, 
it  be  the  ghost  of  one  who  bore  your  name 
vL  ;ut  these  meadows,  twenty  years  ago." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  '  "  said  Katie.  "  we 
came  back. 
We  bought  the  farm  we  tenanted  before. 
Am  I  so  like  her  ?  so  they  said  on  board, 
bir.  If  you  knew  her  in  her  English  days. 
My  mother,  as  It  seems  you  did,  the  dayi 
1  hat  most  she  loves  to  talk  of,  come  with  me 
My  brother  James  is  in  the  harvest-field  ■ 
inr'^°"  ^'"  ""^  welcome -O,  come 


THE  LETTERS. 


Still  on  the  tower  stood  the  vane, 
A  black  yew  glooni'd  the  stagnant  air. 

I  peer'd  athwart  the  chancel  pane 
And  saw  the  altar  cold  and  bare. 

A  clog  of  lead  was  round  my  feet, 

^^  A  band  of  pain  across  my  brow  ; 
Cold  altar.  Heaven  and  earth  shall  meet 
Before  you  hear  my  marriage  vow." 

3. 

I  turn'd  and  humm'd  a  bitter  song 

Ihat  mock'd  the  wholesome  human  he'r* 
Anu  liien  we  met  in  wrath  and  wrong,      ~  "" 

We  met,  but  only  meant  to  part. 
I-ull  cold  my  greeting  was  and  dry  ; 

bhe  faintly  smiled,  she  hardly  moved  ; 

^w  with  half-unconscious  eye 

She  wor?  th?  qplors  I  approved, 


ODE  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  DU7.E  OF  yyELLINGTOH. 


«59 


"  said  Katie,  "  we 


She  took  the  little  ivory  cheat, 

With  half  a  high  she  turn'd  ihe  key. 
Then  raised  her  licad  with  lips  comprest. 

And  gave  my  letters  back  to  me. 
And  gave  the  trinkets  and  the  rings, 

My  gifts,  when  gifts  of  mii  e  could  please  • 
As  lool!'.  a  father  on  the  tl.hyi^s 

Of  his  dead  son,  I  look'ii   n\  ihose. 


She  told  me  all  her  friends  had  said  ; 

I  rap-d  against  the  public  liar ; 
She  talk'd  as  if  her  love  were  dead, 
^^  But  in  my  words  were  seeds  of  fire. 
'  No  more  of  love  ;  your  sex  is  k-  own 

I  never  wjii  be  twice  received, 
Henceforth  1  trust  the  man  alone, 

The  woman  cannot  be  believed. 


TTiro     lander,  meanest  spawn  of  Hell 
(An     ,.,  omen's  slander  is  the  worst), 

And  vdu,  whom  once  I  lov'd  so  well, 
Ihro'  you,  my  life  will  be  accurst  " 

I  spoke  with  heart,  and  heat  and  force, 
I  shook  her  breast  with     igue  alarms  — 
\v  '•"■■'l"'*  fro""  a  mouiuain  source 
we  rush  d  into  each  other's  arms. 

6. 
We  parted  :  sweetly  gleam'd  the  star 

And  sweet  the  vapor-braided  blue 
X-ow  breezes  fann'd  the  belfry  bars    ' 

As  homeward  by  the  church  I  drew, 
llie  very  graves  appear'd  to  smile, 

..  ^°  .  "  ' ,  y  '■°^e  '"  shadow'd  swells : 
Uark  porch,"  I  said,  "and  silent  aisle 
xnere  comes  a  sound  of  marriage  bells  " 


°^?w9,?'.,THE   DEATH   OF   THE 
DUKE  OF   WELLINGTON 

I. 
Bury  the  Great  Duke 

With  an  empire's  lamentation. 
Let  us  bury  the  Great  Duke 

natro°n?'  °'"  ^'''^  '"°"''"'"g  °^  *  mighty 
Mourning  wlien  theii  leaders  fall 
Warriors  carry  the  warrior's  pall 
And  sorrow  darkens  hamlet  and 'hall. 

^''""pS"  ""^  '^''  *^'  '"^"  ^^""^  ^^  ^^^ 
Here  ,n  streaming  London's  central  rnnr 
a"  j'.i    ^r"""  "'  t'los'!  lie  wrouBht  for"""' 
Echn '"  '^=S*u'^^  "^°^«  he  fough  7or     ' 
Echo  round  his  bones  forevermore 

3. 

Lead  out  the.pae;eant :  sad  and  slow, 
A^  i.ts  aq  universal  woe. 


Let  the  long  long  procession  go, 
And  et  the  sorrowing  crowd  about  it  urow. 
And  let  the  mournful  martial  music  bfow: 
Xhe  last  great  Englishman  is  low. 

4- 

Mourn,  for  to  us  he  seems  the  last, 

Remembermg  all  his  greatness  in  the  Past 

w°.ir?r*  ""soldier  fashion  will  he  greet 

With  lifted  hand  the  gazer  in  the  street 

U  friends,  our  chief  state-oracle  is  dead  • 

Mourn  for  the  man  01  long-endurine  blood 

wlf  f'a.'^man-warrior,  moderate,  resolute,' 

Whole  in  himself,  a  common  good 

Mourn  for  the  man  of  amplest  influence. 

yet  clearest  of  ambitious  crime. 

Our  greatest  yet  with  least  pretence. 

Oreat  in  council  and  great  111  war, 

t  oremost  captain  of  his  time,  ^  ' 

Rich  m  saving  common-sense, 

Ar.a    as  the  greatest  only  are, 

In  '•■  i  simplicity  sublime. 

O  good  gray  head  which  a,"  men  knew, 

O   voice   from   which   their  omens  all  men 

drew, 
O  iron  nerve  to  true  occasion  true 
O  fall'n  at  length  that  tower  of  strength 
Which  stood  four-square  to  all  the  winds  that 

blew  I 
Such  was  he  whom  we  deplore. 
The  long  self-sacrifice  of  life  is  o'er. 
Ihe  great  World-victor's  victor  will  be  seen 
no  more. 


S- 

All  is  over  and  done  : 

Render  tlianks  to  the  Giver, 

lingland,  for  tliy  son 

Let  the  bell  b  ■  toli'd. 

Render  thanks  to  the  Giver, 

And  render  liini  to  the  mould 

Under  the  cross  of  gold 

1  iiat  shines  over  city  and  river, 

Ihere  he  shall  rest  forever 

Among  the  wise  and  the  bold. 

Let  the  bell  be  toU'd  : 

And  a  reverent  people  behold 

1  he  towering  car,  the  sable  steeds  : 

Bright  let  It  be  with  his  blazon'd  deeds 

Dark  in  its  funeral  fold. 

Let  the  bell  be  tolled  : 

And  a  deeper  knell  in  the  heart  be  knoll'd  • 

And  the  sound  of  the  sorrowing  a.uhem 

roU'd 
T'T'J''^  dome  of  the  golden  cross  ; 
And  the  volleying  cannon  thunder  his  loss  : 
He  knew  their  voices  of  old. 
For  many  a  time  in  many  a  clime 
His  captam's-ear  has  heard  them  boom 
Bellowing  victory,  bel'owinc  doom  : 
vviion  r,e  with  those  deep  voices  wroutrht, 
Ouardmg  realms  and  kings  from  shame  ; 
With  those  deep  voices  our  dead  captain 

taught 
The  tyrant,  and  asserts  his  claim 

ii")!.-  l','^''^.''^  '""""^  t°  the  great  name. 
Which  he  has  worn  so  pure  of  blame, 
in  praise  and  in  disprais?  th?  same, 


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ODE  ON  THE  DEA  TH  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON. 


A  nian  of  well-attemper'd  frame. 
O  civic  muse,  to  such  a  name, 
To  sucii  a  name  for  ages  long, 
To  such  a  name, 

Preserve  a  broad  approach  of  fame, 
And  ever-ringing  avenues  of  song. 

6. 

Who  is  he  that  cometh,  like   an  honor'd 

.      pest, 
With  banner  and  with  music,  with  soldier 

and  with  priest, 
With  a  nation  weeping,  and  breaking  on  my 

rest?  ' 

Mighty  seaman,  this  is  he 
Was  great  by  land  as  thou  by  sea. 
Thine  island  loves  thee  well,  thou  famous 

man. 
The  greatest  sailor  since  our  world  began 
Now,  to  the  roll  of  muffled  drums. 
To  thee  the  greatest  soldier  comes  ; 
For  this  is  he 

Was  great  by  land  as  thou  by  sea  ; 
His  foes  were  thine  ;  he  kept  us  free  ; 
O  give  him  welcome,  this  is  he. 
Worthy  of  our  gorgeous  rites. 
And  worthy  to  be  laii)  by  thee  ; 
For  this  is  England's  greatest  son, 
He  that  gain'd  a  hundred  fights, 
Nor  ever  lost  an  English  gun  ; 


This  is  he  that  far  awav 

Against  the  myriads  of  Assaye 

riash'd  with  his  fiery  few  and  won ; 

And  underneath  another  sun. 

Warring  on  a  later  day, 

Round  affrighted  Lisbon  drew 

The  treble  works,  the  vast  designs 

Of  his  labor'd  rampart-lines. 

Where  he  greatly  stood  at  bay, 

Whence  he  issued  forth  anew. 

And  ever  great  and  greater  grew. 

Beating  from  the  wasted  vines 

Back  to  France  her  banded  swarms. 

Back  to  France  with  countless  blows, 

Till  o'er  the  hillr.  her  eagles  flew 

Past  the  Pyrenean  pines, 

Follow'd  up  in  valley  and  glen 

With  blare  of  bugle,  clamor  of  men, 

Roll  of  cannon  and  clash  of  arms, 

And  England  pouring  on  her  foes. 

Such  a  war  had  such  a  close. 

Again  their  ravening  eagle  rose 

In   anger,    wheel'd    on    Europe-shadowing 

wings. 
And  barking  for  the  thrones  of  kings  ; 
rill  one  that  sought  but  Duty's  iron  crown 
On    that   loud    sabbath  shook  the  spoiler 

down  ; 
A  day  of  onsets  of  despair  ! 
Dash'd  on  every  rocky  square 
Their    surging  charges  foam'd  themselves 

away  ; 
Last,  the  Prussian  trumpet  blew  ; 
Thro'  fhp  !or,g-tormeiiieti  air 
Heaven  flash'd  a  sudden  jubilant  ray, 
And  down  we  swept  and  charged  and  over- 
threw. 
So  great  a,  soldier  taught  119  there, 


What  long-enduring  hearts  could  do 

In  that  world's-earthquake,  Waterloo  I 

Mighty  seaman,  tender  and  true. 

And  pure  as  he  from  taint  of  craven  guile 

O  savior  of  the  silver-coasted  isle  * 

O  shaker  of  the  Baltic  and  the  Nile 

If  aught  of  things  that  here  befall 

louch  a  spirit  among  things  divine. 

If  love  of  country  move  thee  there  at  all. 

Be  glad,  because  his  bones  are  laid  by  thine  1 

And  thro  the  centuries  let  a  people's  voice 

In  full  acclaim, 

A  people's  voice. 

The  proof  and  echo  of  all  human  fame, 

A  people  s  voice,  when  they  rejoice 

At  CIVIC  revel  and  pomp  and  game. 

Attest  their  great  commander^  claim 

With  honor,  honor,  honor  to  him, 

Eternal  honor  to  his  name. 


A  people's  voice  !  we  are  a  people  yet. 
Tho  all  men  else  their  nobler  dreams  forget 
t-on.used  by  brainless   mobs    and    lawless 

Powers  ; 
Thank  Him  who  isled  us  here,  and  roughly 

His    Saxon    in   blown   seas  and  storming 

showers. 
We  have  a  voice,  with  which  to  pay  the  debt 
Of  boundless  love  and  reverence  and  recret 
To  those  great  men  who  fought,  and  kept  ]t 

ours. 
And  keep  it  ours,  O  God,  from  brute  control ; 
O  Statesmen,  guard  us,  guard  the  eye,  the 

soul 
Of  Europe,  keep  our  noble  England  whole. 
And  save  the  one  true    seed   of  freedom 

sown 
Betwixt  a  people  and  their  ancient  throne, 
Ihat   sober   freedom    out    of  which   there 

springs 
Our  loyal  passion  for  our  temperate  kings  • 
For,  saving  that,  ye  help  to  sa^e  mankind 
lill  public  wrong  be  crumbled  into  dust. 
And  drill  the  raw  world  for  the  march  of 

mind. 
Till  crowds  at  length  be  sane  and  crowns  be 

Just. 
But  wink  no  more  in  slothful  overtrust. 
Remember  him  who  led  your  hosts  ; 
He  bade  you  guard  the  sacred  coasts. 
Your  cannons  moulder  on  the  .seaward  wall ; 
His  voice  is  silent  in  your  council-hall 
Forever  ;  and  whatever  tempests  lower 
Forever  silent ;  even  if  they  broke 
In  thunder,  silent  ;  yet  remember  all 
He  spoke  among  you,  and  the  Man  who 

spoke  ; 
Who  never  sold  the  truth  to  serve  the  hour 
Nor  palter'd  with  Eternal  God  for  power  ; 
Who  let  the  turbid  streams  of  rumor  flow 
Thro'  either  babblinR  world  of  hieh  and  low  ; 
Wiiose  life  was  work,  whose  language  rile 
With  rugged  maxims  hewn  from  life  ; 
VVho  never  spoke  against  a  foe  ; 
Whose  eighty  winters  freeze  with  one  rebuke 
All  great  self-seekers  trampling  on  the  right ; 


LLINGTCN. 

hearts  could  do 
quake,  Waterloo  I 
er  and  true, 
taint  of  craven  guile, 
-coasted  isle, 
c  and  the  Nile, 
U  here  befall 
things  divine, 
ive  thee  there  at  all, 
bones  are  laid  by  thine  I 
es  let  a  people's  voice 


THE  DAISY. 


our    England's    Alfred 


sane  and  crowns  be 


Truth-teller    was 

named ; 

Truth-lover  was  our  English  Duke  ; 
Whatever  record  leap  to  light 
He  never  shall  be  sh?Tied. 

8. 
Lo,  the  leader  in  these  glonous  wars 
Now  to  glorious  burial  slowly  borne, 
Foilow'd  by  the  brave  of  ether  lands, 
He,  on  whom  from  both  her  open  hands 
Lavish  Honor  shower'd  all  her  stars. 
And  affluent  Fortune  emptied  all  her  horn. 
Yivi,  let  all  good  things  await 
Him  who  cares  not  to  be  great, 
But  as  he  saves  or  serves  the  state. 
Not  once  or  twice  in  our  rough  island-story. 
The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  'o  glory  : 
He  that  wallts  it,  only  thirsiin? 
For  the  right,  and  learns  to  deaden 
Love  of  sell,  before  his  journey  closes. 
He  shall  find  the  stubborn  thistle  bursting 
Into  g  ossy  purples,  which  outreddea 
All  voluptuous  garden-roses. 
Not  once  or  twice  in  oc.r  fair  island-sto'y, 
X  ne  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory : 
He,  that  ever  following  her  commands. 

On  with  toil  of  heart  and  knees  and  hands, 
1  hro  the  long  gorge  to  the  far  light  has  won 

"IS,  Pa'hupward,  and  prevaii'd, 

bli.-.ll  find  the  toppling  crags  of  Duty  scaled 

Are  close  upon  the  shining  table-lands 

lo  which  our  God  Himseff  m  moon  and  aun 

Such  was  he :  his  work  is  done. 

«ut  while  the  races  of  mankind  endure. 

Let  his  great  example  stand 

Colossal,  seen  of  every  land 

^"'^  ''pu?-  •"'*  ^^^'"^  '^™'  ""*  statesman 

Thi  n,?h  'ff'.^'l^  "l"""'  *"  ''"'"'•'"  story 
i   \  ^^\°K  '^"ty  •'6  fie  way  to  glory : 

shami^"    *''°''*  *'^*"*'^  ^  ^*''*^  '"'■°'" 
For  many  and  many  an  age  proclaim 
At  civic  revel  and  pomp  and  game, 
A  Id  when  the  long-illumined  cities  flame,       ^ 
1  heir  ever-loyal  iron  leader's  fame. 
With  honor,  honor,  honor,  honor  to  him  I 

Eternal  honor  to  his  name.  ' 


i6t 


And  brawling  memories  all  too  free 

tor  such  a  wise  humility 

As  L'fits  a  solemn  fane  : 

We  revere,  and  while  we  hear 

1  he  tides  of  Music's  golden  sea 

betting  toward  et"^rnity, 

Upljfted  high  in  heart  and  hope  are  we. 

Until  we  doubt  not  that  for  oiie  so  true 

Ihere  must  be  other  nobler  work  to  do 

Ihan  when  he  fought  at  Waterloo. 
And  victor  he  must  evr  be 
Por  tho'  the  Giant  Ages  heave  the  hill 
And  break  the  shore,  and  evermore 
Make  and  break,  and  work  their  will  • 
1  lio  world  on  world  in  myriad  myriads  roll 
Round  us.  each  with  different  powers. 
And  other  form-,  of  life  than  oirs, 
What  kn.w  we  greater  than  the  soul? 

HM=h  7k'"^^"i''1'»^^  T"  ^e  build  our  tn«f. 

Hush,  the  Dead  March  wails  in  the  people's 

cars  :  r    v  ^  <> 

The  dark  crowd  laoves,  and  there  are  sobs 

and  tears : 
The  black  earth  yawns:  the  mortal  disao- 

pears ;  "^ 

Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust ; 
He  is  gone  who  seem'd  so  great.  — 
Gone  ;  but  nothing  can  bereave  him 
Of  the  force  he  made  his  own 
Being  here,  and  v.-e  believe  him 
Something  far  advanced  in  state, 
And  that  he  wears  a  truer  crown 
Ihan  any  wreath  th.-«t  man  can  weave  him 
i>ut  speak  no  more  of  his  renown 
Lay  your  earthly  fancies  down. 
And  m  the  vast  cathedral  l<»ave  him 
Ood  accept  him,  Christ  reccwe  him.' 

1853. 


Peace,  his  triumph  will  be  sung 
Uy  some  yet  unn-oulded  tongul 

teL^rkTv^vtrin^^^-^^""--- 

EleXSfe^^i;^?^"'"" 

O  peace.  It  IS  a  day  cj- pah" ^ 

For  one,  .upon  whose'hand  and  heart  and 

Ou?s'the  n^'^ii^l'  ^l^  '■'te  of  Europe  hung. 

Mu'Jk.     -'1°'  mau-s  degree 
Must  be  with  us,  watching  here 
At  this,  our  great  .solemnity. 
Whom  we  see  not  we  revere. 
P,   '■*y'-re.  atjd  we  refrain 
Tom  talk  of  battiM  loud  and  vain. 


THE  DAISY. 

WRITTEN   AT   EDINBURGH. 

P^^^^f '  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine, 
tn  lands  of  palm  and  southern  pine  ; 

In  lands  of  palni,  of  orange-blossom. 
Ot  olive,  aloe,  and  maize  and  vine. 

What  Roman  strength  Turbia  showd 
In  rui;i,  by  the  mountain  road; 
rJv"'\  ''^p  ^  Kfi'"-  beneath,  tne  city 
OI  little  Monaco,  basking,  glow'd. 

How  richly  down  the  rocky  dell 
ll^e  torrent  rineyard  .streaming  fell 

lo  meet  the  sun  and  sunny  waters, 
Ihat  only  heaved  with  a  summer  swell. 

What  slender  campanili  grew 

\ii^^^'  '^e  peacock's  neck  in  hue  ; 

A  „,il'\  nf^  ''"^"^  '■'='"=•  ""  sandy  beaches 
A  milky-bell'd  amaryllis  blew. 

How  young  Columbus  seem'd  to  rove. 
«et  present  in  his  natal  grove. 

Now  watching  high  on  mountain  cornice. 
And  steerine.  now.  from  a  purple  cove 


t6a 


TO  THE  REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE. 


Now  pacing  mute  by  ocean's  rim  ; 
Till,  in  a  narrow  street  and  dim, 

I  stay'd  the  wheels  at  Cogoletto, 
And  drank,  and  loyally  drank  to  him. 

Nor  knew  we  well  what  pleased  us  most. 
Not  the  dipt  palm  of  which  they  boast ; 

But  distant  color,  happy  hamlet, 
A  moulder'd  citadel  on  the  coast, 

Or  tower,  or  high  hill-convent,  seen 
A  IJKht  amid  its  olives  green  ; 

Or  olive-hoary  cape  in  ocean  ; 
Or  rosy  blossom  in  hot  ravine, 

VVhe'e  oleanders  flush'd  the  bed 
Of  silent  torrents,  grnvel-spread  ; 

And,  crossing,  olt  we  saw  the  glisten 
Of  ice,  far  up  on  a  mountain  head. 

We  loved  that  hall,  tho'  white  and  cold, 
I  liosc  niched  shapes  of  noble  mould, 

A  princely  people's  awful  princes, 
1  he  grave,  severe  Genovese  of  old. 

At  Florence  too  what  golden  hours. 
In  those  long  galleries,  were  ours  • 

What  drives  abotit  the  fresh  Cascini, 
Or  walks  in  Boboli's  ducal  bowers. 

In  bright  vignettes,  and  each  complete, 
Of  tower  or  duoino,  sunny-sweet, 

Or  palace,  how  the  city  glitter'd. 
Thro'  cypress  aveuues,  at  our  feet. 

But  when  we  crost  the  Lombard  plain 
Ramember  what  a  plague  of  rain  ; 

Of  rain  at  Reggio,  rain  at  Parma; 
At  Lodi,  rain,  Piacenza,  rain. 

And  stem  and  sad  'so  rare  the  smiles 
Of  sunlight)  look'd  the  Lombard  piles; 

Porch-pillars  on  the  lion  resting. 
And  sombre,  old,  colonnaded  aisles. 

0  Milan,  O  the  chanting  quires, 
The  giant  windows'  blazon'd  fires, 

The  height,  the  space,  tlin  gloom,  the  glory  I 
mout.t  of  marble,  a  hundred  spires  ! 

1  climb'd  the  roofs  at  break  of  day  ; 
Sun-smitten  Alps  before  me  lay. 

I  stood  among  the  silent  statues. 
And  statued  pinnacles,  mute  as  they. 

How  faintly-flush'd,  how  phantom-fair. 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 

A  thousand  shadowy-pencill'd  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  goiden  air. 

Remember  how  we  came  at  last 
To  Como  ,  shower  and  storm  and  blast 
Had  blown  the  lake  bevond  his  limit. 
And  all  was  flooded  ;  and  how  we  past 

From  Como,  when  the  light  was  gray, 
And  in  my  head,  for  half  the  day. 

The  rich  Virgilian  rustic  measure 
Of  Lari  Maxnme.  all  the  wav. 


A  mout.'i 


Like  ballad-burthen  music,  kept. 
As  on  the  Larinno  crept 

To  that  fair  port  below  the  castle 
Of  Queen  Theodolind,  where  we  slept; 

Or  hardly  slept,  but  watch'd  awake 
A  cypress  in  the  moonlight  shake. 

The  moonlight  touching  o'er  a  terra':e 
One  tall  Agav6  above  the  lake. 

What  more  ?  we  took  our  last  adieu 
And  up  the  snowy  Splugen  drtw, 

But  ere  we  reach'd  the  highest  summit 
I  pluck'd  a  daisy,  I  gave  it  you. 

It  told  of  England  then  to  me, 
And  now  it  tells  of  Italy. 
_  O  love,  we  two  shall  go  no  longet 
To  lands  of  summer  across  the  sea ; 

So  dear  a  life  your  arms  enfold 
Whose  crying  is  a  cry  for  gold : 

Yet  here  to-night  in  this  dark  city. 
When  ill  and  weary,  alone  and  cold, 

I  found,  tho'  crush'd  to  hard  and  dry. 
This  nurseling  of  another  sky 

Still  in  the  little  book  you  lent  me, 
And  -jvhere  you  tenderly  laid  it  by ; 

And  I  forgot  the  clouded  Forth, 

The  gloom  that  saddens  Heaven  ar.d  Earth, 

The  bitter  east,  the  misty  summer 
And  gray  metropolis  of  the  North. 

Perchance,  to  lull  the  throbs  of  pain. 
Perchance,  to  charm  a  vacant  brain. 

Perchance,  to  dream  you  still  beside  ■  - 
My  fancy  fled  to  the  South  again. 


TO  THE  REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE. 

Come,  when  no  graver  cares  employ, 
God-father,  come  and  see  your  boy : 

Your  presence  will  be  sun  in  winter, 
Making  the  little  one  leap  for  joy. 

For,  being  of  that  honest  few. 
Who  give  the  Fiend  Mmself  his  due, 

Should  eighty  thousand  college  councils 
Thunder  "Anathema,"  friend,  at  you: 

Should  all  our  churchmen  foam  in  spite 
At  you,  so  careful  of  the  right. 
Yet  one  lay-hearth  would  give  you  wel- 
come 
(Take  it  and  come)  to  the  Isle  of  Wight ; 

Where,  far  from  noise  and  smoke  of  town, 
I  watch  the  twilight  falling  brown 

All  round  a  careless-order'd  garden 
Close  to  the  ridge  of  -x  noble  down. 

You  '11  have  no  scandal  while  you  dine, 
!  But  honest  talk  and  wholesome  wine, 

And  only  hear  the  magpie  gossip 
Garr"lous  under  a  roof  of  pine  : 


en  music,  kept, 
)  crept 

t  below  tlie  castle 
jlind,  where  we  slept ; 

ut  watch'd  awske 
loonlight  shake, 
touching  o'er  a  terrace 
ove  the  lake. 

jok  cur  last  adieu. 
Splugen  drew, 
li'd  the  highest  summit 
I  gave  it  you. 

I  then  to  me, 
f  Italy. 

shall  go  no  longec 
ler  across  the  sea ; 

r  arms  enfold 
cry  for  gold : 
It  in  this  dark  city, 
-y,  alooe  and  cold, 

I'd  to  hard  and  dry, 
mother  skv 
book  you  lent  me, 
iderly  laid  it  by ; 

loudod  Forth, 

idens  Heaven  ar.d  Earth, 

the  misty  summer 

is  of  the  North. 

[he  throbs  of  pain, 
m  a  vacant  brain, 
;am  you  still  beside  -  ' 
e  South  again. 


IVILL.-THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE. 


:  F.  D.  MAURICE. 

iver  cares  employ, 
nd  see  your  boy : 
ill  be  sun  in_  winter, 
ne  leap  for  joy. 

honest  few, 
d  himself  his  due, 
jrsand  college  councils 
ia,"  friend,  at  you: 

chmen  foam  in  spite 

f  the  rieht, 

th  would  give  you  wel- 

to  the  Isle  of  Wight ; 

se  and  smoke  of  town, 
falling  brown 
ss-order'd  garden 
r  1  noble  down. 

dal  while  you  dine, 
I  wholesome  wiue, 
:  magpie  gossip 
jof  of  pine : 


I' or  groves  of  pine  on  either  hand 
To  break  the  bl.ist  of  winter,  stsnd  ; 
And  further  on,  the  hoary  Channel 
Tumbles  a  breaker  on  chalk  and  sand  ; 

Where,  if  below  the  milky  steep 
Some  ship  of  battle  slowly  creep. 

And  on  thro'  zones  of  light  and  shadow 
(jJim.Tier      ay  to  the  lonely  deep, 

We  might  discuss  the  Northern  sin 
Which  made  a  selfish  war  begin  ; 

i)is., lite  the  claims,  .irrange  the  chances: 
Liiiperor,  Ottoman,  which  shall  win  : 

9f  ^'''e'her  war's  avenging  rod 
.^lial   lasli  all  Europe  into  blood  ; 

1  111  you  should  turn  to  dearer  matters, 
Dear  to  the  man  that  is  dear  to  God ; 

How  best  to  help  the  slender  store. 
Hmv  mend  the  dwellings,  of  the  poor  ■ 

Ho'.v  gair.  mhfe,  as  life  advances. 
Valor  aud  chanty  more  and  mure. 

Come,  Maurice,  come :  the  lawn  .is  vet 
Is  hoar  with  rime,  or  spongv-wet  ■ 
But  when  the  wreath  of  March  has  bios- 
som  d, 
Crocus,  anemone,  violet. 

Or  later,  pay  one  visit  here, 

tor  those  are  few  we  hold  as  dear- 

Nor  pay  but  one,  but  come  for  manv 
Many  and  many  a  happy  year.  ^' 

January,  1854. 


WII  \. 

I. 

0  WELL  for  him  whose  will  is  strong  I 
he  suffers,  but  he  will  not  siififer  long ; 
He  suffers,  but  he  cannot  suffer  wrong: 

moTk!  "'"'"  ""  '"""^  ^"'''■'^  '^"'^°'" 
Nor  all  Calamity's  hugest  waves  confound 
Who  see.ns  a  promontory  of  rock,  ' 

1  hat,  compass'd  round  with  turbulent  sound 
In  middle  ocean  meets  the  surging  shock  ' 
Tempest  buffeted,  citadel-crown'Jf  ' 

Recuinng  and  suBgestine  still! 
■r,%TZ"^^  • '  """  ^'^"'^e  lootsteps 
^  ningm.mmeasurahlesand.*^ 
And  o  er  a  weary,  sultry  land. 
Far  beneath  a  blamg/auli.' 

ue  city  sparkles  like  a  gram  of  <jalt 


'6i 


THE  CHARGE^OF  THE  LIGHT 

I. 
Hai  F  a  league,  half  a  league, 
«alf  a  league  onward, 
All  m  the  valley  of  Death 
Kode  the  six  hundred. 

.   I; orward  the  Light  Brigade! 

Charge  for  the  gun^  !  '■■  %  said  • 
Into  the  valley  of.Death  ' 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  I" 
vyas  there  a  man  dismay 'd.> 
Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blunder'd  : ' 
1  heirs  not  to  make  reply, 
1  heirs  not  to  reason  why. 
Theirs  b;it  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd ; 
2'°™''^.^'  with  shot  and  shell 
Boldly  they  lode  and  well, 
into  the  jaws  of  Death 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell 

Rode  .ie  six  hundred. 

4. 
Flash'd  all  their  sabres  bare, 
|lashdastheytiirn'dinair, 
babnng  th ,  gunners  there, 

*  I'^'PS  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd  • 
•  lunged  in  the  battery-smoke. 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke : 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  sabre-stroke 

bhatter'd  and  sunder'd. 
1  hen  they  rode  back,  but  not 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

_  5- 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd  ; 
f/,?""'d  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell,     ~ 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Heli. 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

6. 
When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made  I 

All  the  world  wonder'd. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made  I 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred  I 


ENID. 


IDYLS    OF    THE    KING. 


■  \  >  i 


M  ^    ri- 

H ' 

w 

M 

f 

"  Flos  Regtim  Arthuriis." 

Joseph  of  Exeter. 


DEDICATION. 


These  to  His  Memory  —  since  he  held  them 

dear, 
Perchance  .is  finding  there  unconsciously 
Some  image  of  himself—  I  dedic.ite, 
I  dedicate,  I  consecrate  with  tears  — 
These  Idyls. 

And  indeed  He  seems  to  me 
Scarce  other  than  my  own  ide.il  knieht, 
"Who  reverenced  his  conscience  as  his  king  ; 
Whose  glory  was,  redressing  human  wrong ; 
Who  spake  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen'd  to  it ; 
Who  loved  one  only  and  who  clave  to  her—  "' 
Her  —  over  all  whose  realms  to  their  last  isle 
Commmgled  with  the  gloom  of  imminent  war,' 
Ihe  shadow  of  His  loss  moved  like  eclipse 
Darkening  the  world.     We  have  lost  him  :  he 

is  gone  : 
We  know  him  now  :  all  narrow  jealousies 
Are  silent :  and  we  see  him  as  he  moved, 
How  modest,  kindly,  all-accomplish'd,  wise. 
With  what  sublime  repression  of  himself" 
And  in  what  limits,  and  how  tenderly  ; 
Ncc  swaying  to  this  faction  or  to  that  ; 
Woi  making  Ins  high  place  the  lawless  perch 
Ut  wing  d  ambitions,  nor  a  vantage-ground 
tor  pleasure  :  but  thro'  all  this  tract  of  years 
Wearing  the  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life, 
Ketore  a  thousand  peering  littlenesses, 
a"  "'u^  '^^'^^  light  which  beats  upon  a  throne. 
And  blackens  every  blot  :  for  where  is  he, 
Who  dares  foreshadow  for  an  only  son 
A  lovelier  life,  a  more  unstain'd,  than  liis  ? 
Ur  how  should  England  dreaming  of ///j  sons 
Hope  more  for  these  than  some  inheritance 
Ut  such  a  life,  a  heart,  a  mind  as  thine, 
1  hou  noble  Father  of  her  Kings  to  be. 
Laborious  for  her  people  and  her  poor  — 
Voice  in  the  rich  dawn  of  an  ampler  day — 
t  ar-sighted  summoner  of  War  and  Waste 
To  fruitful  strifes  and  rivalries  of  peace  — 
Sweet  nature  gilded  by  the  gracious  gleam 
Of  letters,  dear  to  Science,  dear  to  Art, 
Dear  to  thy  land  and  ours,  a  Prince  indeed, 
Keyond  all  titles,  and  a  household  name, 
Hereafter,  thro'  all  times,  Albert  the  Good 


The  ove  of  a    Thy  sons  encompass  Thee, 
The  ove  of  a    thy  daughters  cherish  'Vh^,. 
The  love  of  all  I  hy  people  comfort  Tl.tc, 
lill  God  s  love  set  Thee  at  his  side  ag.iii; 


ENID. 


a  knight  of  Arthur's 


of 


Creak  not,  O  woman's-heart,  but  still  endure  ■ 
break  not,  for  thou  art  Royal,  but  endure, 
Ketnembenng  all  the  beaut  v  of  that  star 
Which  shone  so  close  beside  Thee,  that  ve 

m.-ide  ' 

One  Hght  together,  but  has  past  and  lefl 
Ihe  Grown  of  lonely  splendor. 

XX-   1  ,  ^lay  all  love, 

ttis  love,  unseen  out  felt,  /ershadow  Thee, 


,  The  brave  Geraint 
I  court, 

A  tributary  prince  of  Devon,  one 
,  Of  that  great  order  of  the  Table  Round. 
I  Had  wedded  Enid,  Yniol's  only  child, 
I  And  loved  her,  as  he  loved  the  light 
j  Heaven. 

:  And  as  the  light  of  Heaven  varies,  now 
I  At  sunrise,  now  at  sunset,  now  by  night 
j  With  moon  and  trembling  stars,  so  loved 
i    _        Geraint 
;  To  make  her  beauty  vary  day  by  day, 

a"  5"'"^.°"s  and  in  purples  and  in  gems 
:  And  Enid,  but  to  please  her  husband's  eye, 
;  Who  first  had  found  and  loved  her  in  a 
state 
Of  broken  fortunes,  daily  fronted  him 
In  some  fresh  splendor;  and  the  Queen  her- 
self, ^ 
Grateful  to  Prince  Geraint  for  service  done, 
Loved  her,  and  often  with  her  own  white 

hands 
Array'd  and  deck'd  her,  as  the  loveliest. 
Next  after  her  own  self,  in  all  the  court 
And  Enid  loved  the  Queen,  and  with  true 

heart 
Adored  hei,  as  the  stateliest  and  the  best 
And  loveliest  of  all  women  upon  earth 
And  seeing  them  so  tender  and  so  close. 
Long  in  their  common  love  rejoiced  (ieraint 
«ut  when  a  rumor  rose  about  the  Queen, 
louching  her  guilty  love  for  Lancelot, 
i  hough  yet  there  lived  no  proof,  nor  yet  was 

heard 
The  world's    loud    whisper   breaking    into 

storoi, 
Not  less  Geraint  believed  it ;  and  there  fell 
^1     r?''''"  '""^'  '^«'  ^^^  gentle  wife, 
1  hro  that  great  tenderness  to  Guinevere, 
Had  suffered  or  should  suffer  any  taint 
In  nature  :  wherefore  going  to  the  king, 
He  made  this  pretext,  that  his  princedom  lay 
Llose  on  the  borders  of  a  territory. 
Wherein     were     bandit    earis     an''    ci'^'f 

knights. 
Assassins,  and  all  flyers  from  the  hand 
Of  Justire,  and  Nvhatever  loathes  a  law  : 
And  therefore,  tUl  the  king  himself  sliouid 
please 


iy  sons  encompass  Thee, 
y  daughters  cherish  'I'hcc, 
ly  people  comfort  Thee, 
t  Thee  at  his  side  agnii;  . 


ENID. 

nt,  a  knight  of  Arthur's 

of  Devon,  one 
r  of  the  Table  Round, 
I,  Yniol's  only  child, 
IS  he  loved  the  light  of 

f  Heaven  varies,  now 
sunset,  now  by  night 
trembling  stars,  so  loved 


,  daily  fronted  him 

idor;  and  the  Queen  her- 

peraint  for  service  done, 
ten  with  her  own  white 

her,  as  the  loveliest, 
self,  in  all  the  court, 
le  Queen,  and  with  true 

stateliest  and  the  best 
women  upon  earth. 

tender  and  so  close, 
on  love  rejoiced  Geraint. 
ose  about  the  Queen, 

love  for  Lancelot, 
ved  no  proof,  nor  yet  was 

whisper    breaking   info 

ieved  it ;  and  there  fell 
t  his  gentle  wife, 
lerness  to  Guinevere, 
lid  suffer  any  taint 
5  going  to  the  king, 
t,  that  his  princedom  lay 
of  a  territory, 
idit    earls,    and    caitiff 


To  cleanse  this  common  sewer  of  all  his 

realm,  ' 

He  cmved  a  fair  permission  to  depart 

And  there  defend  his  marches  Tand    the 

king  "'" 

Mused  for  a  little  on  his  plea,  but,  last, 

frZ^  'V  '!'*.  P"""  3"d  Enid  rode. 
And    fifty  knights  rode  with   them,  to  the 

shores 
Of  Severn,  and  ihey  past  to  their  own  land  • 
Where,  thinking,  that  if  ever  yet  was  u^f*    ' 
Irue  to  her  lord,  mine  shall  be  so  to  i„e 
He  compassed  her  with  sweet  observances 
And  worship  never  leaving  her,  and  grew 
ForRettuI  of  his  nromU^  f„  .K^  ,;.._  *"    " 


ENID. 


«65 


" •w.j,,,..,,  never   i^iV 

Forgetful  of  his  promise  to  the  king, 
torgetfu  of  the  ^alcon  and  the  hunt, 
f  orgetfu  of  the  tilt  and  tournament,  - 

And  this  forKetfulness  was  hateful  to  her. 

^n'i^'"'!^  7  "'^  P'^P'"^-  w''en  tl'ey  met 
.n  twos  and  threes,  or  fuller  companies. 
Began  to  scoff  and  jeer  and  babble  of  him 
As  of  a  prince  whose  manhood  was  all  rone 
And  molten  down   n  mere  uxoriousness*^       ' 
And  this^she  gather'd   from   the  people's 

This  too  the  women  who  attired  her  head 

''love,  '  '^'''"""^  °"  ^'^  boSss 
^"'"^  mor'^'-  ^"^  '''^^  saddened  her  the 
And  day  by  day  she  thought  to  tell  Geraint 
I  H  .f^i'd  ""t  out  of  ba,  iftil  delicacy;' 
more  ''''"'''*  "^^  sadden.'was  the 
Suspicious  that  her  nature  had  a  taint. 

At  last,  it  chanced  on  z.  summer  mom 
Beat^.h^'^TS  f'-^^h  by  °"'er)  the  new^un 
room^  bhndless  casement  of  the 

And  heated' the  strong  wurrior  in  his  dreams- 

A^id  i,  ™:$?if'  ?^''  "^«  ^"^^--'et  aside.  ' 

Ad  bared  the  knotted  column  of  his  throat 

ISd  ^rmT'  ^'1"^?,°'"'^'^  ''^^°i^  breast,       • 

sloped."         "-^   "'"  ''"°'''°S  n/uscle 

As  slopes  a  wild  brook  o'er  a  little  stone 

An;rS°°  r''^"L^""y  '°  break  uTo    it. 
A    I  Lnid  woke  and  sat  beside  the  couch 
Acliniring  h.m,  and  thought  within  her  e  ^ 
nfen   hIV"'"^'^  ^'^"'^'y  '"^de  as  he  ?      ' 

A  d  ac  usation'of"^'  P'"^''  ""=  P'^^P'^'^  '="k 
Arm  .  1         °  J     """"""sness 

r  nL  .   t^'  """^,'  ^"d  bowing  over  him 
Low  to  her  own  heart  piteoutly,  she  said  : 

Am  ?  t'lSausTf  t?"'^  all-puissant  arms, 
ReuroVri,  '     ■       P°"''  "^ause  that  men 

I  ««  ,hi?°"'  l^y'"S  all  your  force  is  gone? 
And  .    f  ?    '^^  'I''"""''  J  dare  not  r.pcak 
And  tc,U„n,  what  I  think  and  what  they 

f  caln".  (^^"=  "'?'  ^^  should  linger  here  • 
■a    i^ve  °hadT;°:^^=^"l"°'  his'name     ' 
AnH  rflf    nad  I  gird  his  harness  on  him. 
And  nde  with  him  to  battle  and  sUnd  ^y', 


I  ^"'^  "'blows'"'  '"'^''"'"'  ''""'^  ""'''"S  great 
At  caitiffs  and  at  wrongers  of  the  world 
Far  better  were  I  laidtn  the  dark^arth. 

No    o  h'JT^M^^  '"'"■'=  bi«  noble  voice. 
Wot  to  be  folded  more  in  these  dear  inns 
And  d..^rk^e„'d  from  the  high  light  iriii. 

^  ''^"  shanie.^  '"'''  ""■""^'^  "'"  '"'""''^ ''"«'" 
Am  I  so  bold,  and  could  I  so  stand  bv 
And  see  my  dear  lord  wounded  in  the  strife 
ev.s     "'"■"''  '°  ''"'"'  before  mine 
And  yet'  no't  daie  to  tell  him  what  I  think 
And  iKMV  men  slur  him.  saying  all  his  force 
Is  melted  into  mere  elfeminacy.?  " 

O  me,  I  fear  that  I  am  no  true  wife  " 

Half  inwardly,  half  audibly  she  spoke 
And  the^strong  passion  in'her  S' her 

AnH^  Jhil''  "P"",  his  broad  and  naked  breast, 
thancr'  ""•  ^"''   ^^  «^"^^'   '"i^- 

He  heard  but  fragments  of  her  later  words 
And  that  she  fear'd  she  was  not  a  true  w'fe 

'car"e       ^  ^"^'"'  "'"  'P'"^  «"  all  my 
For  all    my  pains,  poor  man,  for  all    my 

She  is  not  faithful  to  me,  and  I  see  her 

'"hfll.^""'  """"^  ^^^  ''"'S'"  '"  ^"hur's 
^be"  t^o-^he  loved  and  reverenced  her  too 

Rfill?""  .'t"  ■  ^""''^  be  of  foul  act, 
Th^,   mil    b's  manful  bre.tst  darted  the  pang 
Whom  h^?  "*  '"^"  '"  ib«  sweet  face  of  Eer 
At  thii  h!  'r^^T^': '""e'y  and  miserable. 
An^  i    ?  ^^'■'  '^  bis  huge  ifmbs  out  of  bed 
And  shook  his  drowsy  squire  awake  and  crfed 
__  My  charger  and  her  palfrey,"  then  to  her 
For')'.'"  "-^^  '^""b  into  the  wilderness? 
j  or  tho   it  seems  my  spurs  are  yet  to  win 
I  have  not  fall'n  so  low^s  some' would  wish 

Te'ss^      °"  '°"''  ''°'"  ^"'^  "'^^"^"' 
And  nde  with  me."  And  Enid  ask'd,  amazed. 
B,  .  h.    "  f  ?•  '^'  ^"■'^  '^■''^"  ber  fault."      ' 
ThL,  t't,    i  ^.K'"'^iy"/''  ^^"^  ""'•  but  obey." 
Ihen  she  bethought  her  of  a  faded  silk, 
A  faded  mantle  and  a  faded  veil, 
And  moving  toward  a  cedarn  cabinet, 
W  erein  she  kept  them  folded  reverently 

fow'f  °    *"""""  '^''l  between  the 
She  took  them,  and  array'd  herself  therein 
Remembering  when  first  he  came  on  her    ' 

?nH  li'r."'''V''''f'l'  ''."d  bow  he  loved  her  in  it. 
And  a    her  foolish  fears  about  the  dress,      ' 
And  all  hi,  journey  to  her,  as  himself 
Had  to.d  her,  and  their  coming  to  the  court. 

H^lS''.^''"?"''  °V\f  Whitsuntide  befJire 
Held  court  at  old  Caerleon  upon  Usk, 
I  here  on  a  day,  he  sitting  high  in  hall. 
Before  him  came  a  forester  of  Dean, 
wet  trom  the  woods,  with  notice  of  a  hart 


t66 


ENID. 


I!  I 


Hi 


I  ! 


M 


Taller  than  all  his  feUows,  milky-white. 

Then  the  good  king  gave  order  to  let  blow 
His  horns  for  huntinR  on  the  morrow  mora 

t]^  **!t"  '^^  Q"""  P«'ition'd  for  his  le^'e 
1  o  see  th?  hum,  aliow'd  it  easily. 
So  with  the  morning  all  the  court  were  gone. 
But  Guinevere  lay  late  into  the  morn, 

"lote"'  dreams,  and  dreaming  of  her 

For  Lancelot,  and  forgetful  of  the  hunt ; 
•IW.1,?*  '^  last   a  single  maiden  with  her, 

wood'""  ^''''  ^"dgain'd  the 

There,  on  a  little  knoll  beside  it,  stay'd 

s«a°d    "  ''^  '  ''"'  ''^"'*  '"- 

A  sudden  sound  of  hoofs,  for  Prince  Geraint. 
Late  also,  wearing  neither  hunting-dress 
Nor  weapon  save  a  golden-hilted  brand, 
"%ord^^  flas»»ng   thro'    the    shallow 

V^n^x}'"'^'?^^  so  gallop'd  up  the  knoll. 
A  purple  scarf,  at  either  end  wl^ereof 
I  here  swung  an  apple  of  the  purest  gold 
Sway'd  round  about  him,  as  he  galloped  up 
1  o  join  them,  glancing  like  a  dragon-fly  ^ 
In  summer  suit  and  sifks  of  holiJky.  ^ 
Low  bow'd  the  tributary  Prince,  and  she 
Sweetly  and  statelily,  and  with  all"  ' 
hTm"  queenhood,  answer'd 

.''^'*'t'hFn';e1'-'  ^'■'■""•"  "^^  "^^^^  ">«'" 
"Yea,  noble  Queen,"  he  answer' d,  "and  so 

That  I  but  come  like  you  to  see  the  hant 

" ^°said      " '^''"'''■'"■^ ^''^ with  me, "she 
"For  on  this  little  knoll,  if  anywhere, 
1  here  IS  good  chance  that  we  shall  hear  the 

hounds ; 
Here  often  they  break  covert  at  our  feet  " 


Struck  at  her  with  his  whip,  and  she  retum'd 
Indignant  to  the  Queen  ;  at  which  Geraim 
Exclaiming,  "Surely  I  will  learn  the  name  " 

him''' ''  *°  *''*  ''*'''^'  ^"^  ask'd  h  of 

Had    put  his   horse  in   motion  toward  the 
knight, 

'"''"'cheek''"  '^'"'  '''*  '^'''P'  ""''  «="'  '"" 
The  Prince's  blood  spirted  upon  the  scarf 

Caught  at  the  lult,  as  to  abolish  him  : 
But  he.  from  his  exceeding  manfulness 
Aad  pure  nobility  of  temperament, 
Wroth  to  be  wroth  at  sucti  a  worm  refrain'd 
From  ev'n  a  word,  and  so  returning,  said : 

"  I  will  avenge  this  insult,  noble  Queen 
?nH  V"  I??""  nia'le"'s  person  to  yourself  I 

For  tW  1    ^'J""^  *•'"  r.""""  '°  'heir  earths  : 
For  tho   1  ride  unarm'd,  I  do  not  doubt 
lo  find,  at  some  place  I  shall  come  at,  arms 
?hen  wiirf'fi'  TPJ-'^'S'' '  a"d,.being  found 
rid  '"  ^^^^^  '''* 

And  on  the'third  day  will  again  be  here, 
So  that  I  be  Dot  fall'n  in  fight.     Farewell." 

"Farewell,    fair    Prince,"    answer'd    the 
^_         stately  Queen. 

Be  prosperous  in  this  journey,  as  in  all  ■ 
And  tjiay  you  light  on  alfthings  that  you  love 

But  ere  you  wed  with  any,  bring  your  bride, 

V«   lu  TV^  ^^^  ^^^  daughter  of  a  king,      ' 

win  }\^^u  "^f  *  ?  ''^«^''"'  fr"'"  tl'e  hedge, 
Will  clothe  her  for  her  bridals  like  the  sun  " 


And  while  they  listen'd  for  thedistant  hunt 

Kint'^'n"^  (°';  *'^^  ^«y>g  ^f  Cavall.  ' 

rode"  of  deepest  mouth,  there 

Full  slowly  by  a  knight,  lady,  and  dwarf- 
'knigh?  '^'"''^  lagg'd'latest,  and  'the 

Tmi"'*"''  "'"'.'"^  f^""^'^  a  youthful  face. 
Imperious,  and  of  haughtiest  lineaments. 

In  rh?l!'"*y'K',r°i  "I'"*''""'  °f  his  face 

in  the  king's  hall,  desired  his  name,  and  sent 

Her  maiden  to  demand  it  of  the  dwarf? 

A^„i°i'*'uF  ''"='?,"^  °^^'  and  irritable. 
And  doubling  all  his  master's  vice  of  pride, 

know  ^^         '^^  '*"*'  ^^^  ^'"'"''^  "°* 
«'  n!!^"  k  "'^  'r''- 1'  of  himself,"  she  said.      ! 
^he  -'.-arf?'    '        "  *''''"  °°''"  *="«^ 

'^''°him""'"'*°"''^  ®^'°  *°  •P*'^''  of  j 


^°^h^"  d"  ^*''*'"''  "°*  thinking  that  he 

The  ijoble  hart  at  bay.  now  the  far  horn, 
A   itt  e  vext  at  losing  of  the  hunt, 
!  A  little  at  the  vile  occasion,  rode, 
I  f  y  ups  and  downs,  thro'  many  a  grassy  glade 

At  fjf"  y-  *'"'  ^/'r  "y''  [°"°^4  theMree 
At  las   .hey  issued  from  the  worllofwood, 
And  chmb  d  upon  a  fair  and  even  ridge, 

sink      '^'"*^'^^*  *Sainst  the  sky,  and 

And  thither  came  Geraint,  and  underneath 
Beheld  the  long  street  of  a  little  town 
iPru-     ?S      ,^y'  on  one  side  of  which, 
White  from  the  mason's  hand,  a  fortress  rose  • 
,  And  on  one  side  a  castle  in  decay, 
I  Beyond  a  bridge  that  spann'd  a  dry  ravine  • 
And  out  of  town  and  valley  came  a  noise 
As  of  a  broad  brook  o'er  a  shingly  bed 
Brawling,  or  like  a  clamor  of  the  rooks 
At  distance,  ere  they  settle  for  the  night. 

And  onward  to  the  fortresr.  rr.d.-  the  three 
And  enter'd,  and  were  lost  behind  the  walls! 

So,     thought   Geraint,   "I  have  track'd 
him  to  his  earth." 
And  down  the  lone  street,  riding  wearily. 
Found  every  hostel  full,  and  everywhere 


1  hwwhip,  and  she  return'd 
^ueen  ;  at  which  Geraint 
ely  I  will  learn  the  name," 
the  dwarf,  and  ask'd  it  of 

lefore;  and  when  tTie  Prince 
rse  in   motion  toward  the 

th  his  whip,  and  cut  his 

d  spirted  upon  the  scarf, 
s  quick,  instinctive  hand 

as  to  abolish  him  : 
xceeding  manfulness 
of  temperament, 
1  at  such  a  worm,  refrain 'd 

and  so  returning,  said  ; 

his  insult,  noble  Queen, 
en's  person  to  yourself: 
lis  vermin  to  their  earths: 
rm'd,  I  do  not  doubt 
lace  I  shall  come  at,  arms 
pledge ;  and,  being  found, 
him,  and  will  break  his 

ly  will  again  be  here, 
I'n  in  6ght.     Farewell." 

Prince,"    answer'd    the 

I. 

his  journey,  as  in  all ; 
n  all  things  that  you  love, 
ith  her  whom  first  you 

h  any,  bring  your  bride, 
daughter  of  a  king, 
beggar  from  the  hedge, 

er  bridals  like  the  sun." 

It,  now  thinking  that  he 

y,  now  the  far  horn, 
;  of  the  hunt, 
casion,  rode, 

iro' many  a  grassy  glade 
eye,  following  the  three. 
)m  the  world  of  wood, 
air  and  even  ridge, 
es  against  the  sky,  and 

raint,  and  underneath 
tofahttle  town 
ne  side  of  which, 
's  hand,  a  fortress  rose  : 
tie  in  decay, 
spann'd  a  dry  ravine: 
k'alley  came  a  noise 
'er  a  shingly  bed 
mor  of  the  rooks 
ettle  for  the  night. 

brtres.-,  rode  the  three, 
lost  behind  the  walls, 
nt,   "I   have  track'd 

iet,  riding  wearily, 
t  and  sverywfaeiv 


ENID. 


Was  hammer  laid  to  hoof,  and  the  hot  hiss 
And  bustling  whistle  of  the  youth  who  scour'd 
His  master  s  armor ;  and  of  such  a  one 
He  ask'd,  'What  means  the  tumult  in  the 
town.' 

^'>°  ^^^^^f,\  «<»"-ing  still,  "The  sparrow- 
Then  riding  close  behind  an  ancient  churl 
Who,  smitten  by  the  dusty  sloping  beam  ' 
Went  sweating  underneath  a  sack  of  corn 
Ask  d  yet  once  more  what  meant  the  hubbub 
here  ? 

^^''0  ^{^l^^'l^  8;''"ffly'  "Ugh'  the  sparrow- 
Then,  riding  further  past  an  armorer's, 
W  ho,  with  back  turn'd,  and  bow'd  above  his 

work. 
Sat  riveting  a  helmet  on  his  knee. 
He  put  the  selfsame  query,  but  the  man 
Not  turning  round  nor  looking  at  him,  said  : 

HL"fi',n'  ^  "'V  '^■^?"  '■°'  ""^  sparrow-hawk 
Has  little  time  for  idle  questioners." 
Whereat  Geraint  flash'cf  into  sudden  spleen  : 
A  thousand  pips  eat  up  your  sparrow-hawk  ! 
Tits,  wrens,  and  all  wing'd  nothings  peck 

him  uead  !  *    ^ 

Ye  thini:  the  rustic  cackle  of  your  boure 
(he  murmur  of  the  world  !   What  is  it  to  me  > 
U  wretched  set  of  sparrows,  one  and  all. 
Who  pipe  of  nothing  but  of  sparrow-hawks  ! 
Speak,  if  you  be  not  like  the  rest,  hawk- 
mad. 
Where  can  I  get  me  harborage  for  the  night  ? 


.6; 


j  '^^  '^"a^^|^''*  ''fi'lgerow  thief,  the  sparrow- 

I  But  in   go  i„  ;  for,  save  yourself  desire  it, 

j  We  will  not  touch  upon  him  ev'n  in  jest." 

I 

j      Then  rode  Geraint  into  the  castle  court. 

His  charger  trampling  many  a  prickly  sta^ 
,  Of  sprouted  tlustfe  on  the  broken  stones. 

He  look  d  and  saw  that  all  was  ruinous. 

Here  stood  a  shattered  archway  plumed  with 
tern  ; 

And  here  had  fall'n  a  great  part  of  a  tower. 

Whoe,  like  a  crag  that  tumbles  fi on.  theclitf 

AnH  h.Ji.'"'  f '■'^*'''*^'y  *'"'  ^''t^'oS  flowers': 
And  high  above  a  piece  of  turret  stair. 
Worn  By   the  feet  that    now  were    silent 
wound  ' 

Bare  to  the  sun,  and  monstrous  ivv-stems 
Uaspt  the  gray  walls  with  hairy-fibred  ami= 

^look^l         ^°'"'"*'  "''  "'^  *'°""'  ""^ 
A  knot,  beneath,  of  snakes,  aloft,  a  grove. 

And  while  he  waited  in  the  castle  court, 
The  voice  of  tnid.  Yniol's  daughter,  rang 
Clear  thro'  the  open  casement  of  the  Hall, 
singing  :  and  as  the  sweet  voice  of  a  bird. 
Heard  by  the  lander  in  a  lonely  isle. 
Moves  him  to  think  what  kind  of  bird  it  is 
lliat  sings  .-^o  delicately  clear,  and  make 
Conjecture  of  the  plumage  and  the  form  ; 
bo  the  sweet  voice  of  Enid  moved  Geraint 


Ana  a^  a^;,  „mr^^— ^S^     "^Vf^f^  ^^S^S^  ' 

At  this  the  armorer  turning  all  amazed  I  Com^  fll'^„i::}."i'li\°'f  .^-f 'T^^  "^  "'«" 

And  seeing  one  so  gay  in  purple  silks. 
Came  forward  with  the  hefmet  yet  in  hand 

knight^'    ^"*'°"    "«•    O   stranger 
We  hold  a  tourney  here  to-morrow  mom, 
ArmJ>  /%K  f''?",""  *'™«  '<"■  'lalf  the  work. 

here  ""' "  '^^  "*  '^^"'^'^ 

Harborage'?  truth,  good  truth,  I  know  not, 

save,  ' 

It  may  be,  at  Earl  Yniol's,  o'er  the  bridge 
Yonder."     He  spoke  and  fell  to  work  afain. 

Then  rode  Geraint,  a  little  spleenful  vet 
Across  the  bridge  that  spann'd  t'he  dry  a^vine 
There  musing  sat  the  hoary-headed  Earl 
aZnff  V""  °fj^^y'd  magnificence. 
"wJhlr' P'""  °f  ?f "■•""""y)  and  said  : 
p^fed  to  whom  Geraint  re- 

T?en"vnli^  ^^^v  f  •'"borage  for  the  night." 
Thf  cu  ^°''     ^"*^.''  therefore  and  partake 
Onn,  I-'k^""  '="'««ainnient  of  a  house 
"Th'.nL'  """^  Pe?'"'>."'  everopen-door'd." 

"So  that\n?,"^^'^^'f  ^"^"'''  «P'''=d  Geraint; 
30  that  you  do  not  serve  me  SDarrow-h»wks 

Thin  1-  '/■,«  Pass'on  of  a  twelve  hours'  fast." 
eLi  '^^^  '*""  ''°"y-»>eaded 

And  ansyve'r'd,  '<  Graver  cause  than  yours  is 
nine 


-•  ---   .•  —    •iiuiu  iiuic  ueiovea  or  n 
I  V.  "^^s  flying  oyer  many  a  windy  wave 
lo  Britain,  and  m  April  suddenly 
Wreaks  from  a  coppice  gemm'd  with  green 

and  red,  ^ 

And  he  suspends  his  converse  with  a  friend, 
i  Or  It  may  be  the  labor  of  his  hands, 
lo  think  or  say,  "there  is  the  nightingale  "  • 
So  fared  It  with  Geraint,  who  tliougTu  and 
said, 

"  Here,  by  God's  grace,  is  the  one  voice  for 
me. 

It  chanced  the  song  that  Enid  sang  was 
one  " 

Of  Fortune  and  her  wheel,  and  Enid  sang  : 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  low- 
er the  proud  ; 

Turn  thy  wild  wheel  thro'  sunshine,  storm, 
and  cloud  ; 

Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile 
or  frown  ; 
With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down  ; 
Our  hoard  islutle.  but  our  hearts  are  great. 

"Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  manv 
lands :  •' 

Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  our  own 
hands ; 

For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate 


•ai 


tM 


^"''y  *£i.^"d  'h""  arp  shadows  in  the 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  norhate." 

"  "the  nVst"'"  ^'"^'^  *°"«  y°"  ""'y  l'^^™ 

Said    \|„ioi;    '"Enter  quickly."     Entering 

Right  o'er  a  mount  of  newly-fallen  atones 
1  he  dustyrafter'd  -nany  cob\v'b'J  HaT  '      i 
And  n.'^r  iJ"  ^"V^"' '';""«  i"  di-"  brocade  :    I 

Moved  the  fair  Enid,  all  in  faded  silk 

"He'rrgy'God'^  '  -™.ent  thought  Geraint.  | 
me/'  rood  13  the  one  maid  fo^  j 

"En']d"?h?^'"'7,°''?l''«P«  «he  hoary  Earl  :  I 
court f        "'^^''^  ''°'''=  s'^'>d*i"  the  ' 
Take  him  to  stall,  and  give  hin,  corn,  and 

Go  to  the  town  and  buy  us  flesh  ;.i,d  wiue  • 
And  we  w>l  make  us  merry  as  we  may  ' 
Our  hoard  .s  little,  but  our'heartsar"  great  •' 


nNtD. 


He  spake  :  the  Prince,  as  Enid  past  him 
To  follow,  strode  a  stride,  but  Vniol  cauplu 
^'^"bTir  !'"''•  =*"''  h«'d.  and  said  "S- 

^"' '  Son  ^""'^  ''"""*'  "'°'  '"'"'''•  o  ™y 

Endures^not  that  her  guest  should  serve  him- 

And  reverencing  the  custom  of  the  house 
Oeramt,  from  utter  courtesy,  forbore 


This  sparrow-hawk,  what  is  he.  tell  me  of 

""  "havVit"'."'  ""•  *°°^  '■='•"'•  ^  «'"   "« 
For  if  he  be  the  knight  whom  late  I  saw 
R.  le  mto  that  new  (5i tress  by  your  town 

,       ""^^t^n  '"'  '"^^°"'^  hanV  thenZCe  I 
I  Q^"een  """"""K  ^''<=»    the 

'  p'fe^H'S'i^'d^i^si.i^ir^' 
iSa^jjr^K^^sSJf^Sa-L 

Arnl"*"  ''"^'■"''''  ^  '■"'''=•  •■'nd  thought  to  find 
Arms  m  your  town,  where  all  ihf  men  are 

Fnr^V-''''*  '^^  '■"'"''=  """-mur  of  their  hour" 

wofld?  ''''*'  "'"'  ""^"^  ■om.d  tfe 

They  would  not  hear  me  speak:   but  if  you 

Shof,!*!  }  ""  'i^'''  °"  ^™S'  Of  i^  yourself 
Should  have  them,   tell  me,  seeing  I  have 

That  I  will  break  his  pride  and  learn  his  name 
Avengmg  this  great  liisult  done  the  Queen." 


So  Enid  took  his  charter  to  the  st-ill  • 
And  tlly^T"^"'  "^y  ^"°-  "-  bSVe, 

and  Earl'  '°'''"'  '""^  ''''""  "''^  P™« 

A^vouth'M,'',? f*",?''  ^•'""'^  ?«^'"  ^i"'  one. 
,^  youth,  that  following  with  a  costrel  bore 

Tin"e'   ^^""'"^   ^''"'"«'    «"^  «"d 

'^"'^  ^cheer,''°"^'"  '"^"^  "kestomake  them 

And  .'h.n"/*'''  ''"'■"'ded,  manchet  bread. 
Fn,  ^^u'  •'^""se  their  hall  must  also  serve 

And  stood  behind,  and  waited  on  the  three 

Geraint  h.^^V*"  '^'^•^«'.  ?"d  serviceable 
oeramt  had  longmg  ,„  him  evermore 

4?  V°°P  ^"^  ""-'^  "^e  tender  little  thum"b 

Blt'aft'eTalAV;'"';''''-  ^^  ^'^?,  '^^'^  "  d^^"  = 
"ut  atter  all  had  eaten,  then  Geraint. 

l- or  now  the  wine  made  summer  in  his  veins 

Let  his  eye  rove  in  following,  or  rest 

On  Enid  at  her  Io»!y  h.,nd  mr.id-^'.k 

Now  here  now  there,  about  the  dusky  hall  • 

Then  suddenly  addrest  the  hoary  Earl  " 

"  Fair  Host  and  Earl,  I  pray  your  courtesy : 


Then^crjed  Eari  Yniol :  "Art  thou  he  in- 

Fn^'^nl^l'i  "*  i'^"]*  far-sounded  among  men 

I  saw  von  ±''''-  t"''  """'y  ^'  «''en  first 
J  saw  you  moving  by  me  on  the  bridge, 

Peltyou^vvere  somewhat,  yea  and  gy"  your 

"^"^  ''those"  ""^'''  '"^"^  ^""*'**  y°"  °"«  of 
That  eat  in  Arthur's  hall  at  Camelot. 
,  Nor  si-eak  I  now  from  .-"oc'lsh  flattery  • 
I  For  his  dear  child  hath  often  heard  f^e  praise 
^O'r  feats  of  arms,  and  often  when  I  paused 
,  Hath  a.sk'c  again,  and  ever  loved  to  hear 
;  So  grateful  is  the  noise  of  noble  deeds      ' 
I  To  "oble  hearts  who  see  but  acts  of  wrong  • 
I  O  never  yet  had  woman  such  a  pair  ^  " 

[  Drunk  even   when  he  woo'd  ;    and  be  he 
dead  " 

I  know  not   but  he  passed  to  the  wild  land 
Ihe  second  was  your  foe,  the  sparrow-hawk 
nam  ""^  "^^''^^ -I  will  not  let  \% 
Slip  from  my  lips  if  I  can  help  it,-he, 

kl^?"  ^i  I''**  ''"u^.^'  '^'"'  f'erce  and  turbulent 
Refused  her  to  him,  then  his  pride  awoke  • 
And  since  the  proud  man  often  is  the  r^ea-, 
He  sowed  a  slander  in  the  common  ear. 
Affirming  that  h:.  father  left  him  gold. 
And  in  my  charge,  which  was  not  render'd 
.      to  him  ; 

Bribed  with  large  promises  the  men  who 

served 
About  my  person,  the  more  easily 


i 


"K  what  is  he,  tell  me  of 

10,  good  faith,  I  will  not 

:nkht  whom  late  I  saw 
vfoitressby  vcirtown, 
lasoii's  hand,  tlie.i  have  I 

to  have  it -I  am  Geraint 
inis    morning  when    tlie 

^en  to  demand  the  name 
iJs  under  sliapen  thini;,     ' 
his  whip,  and  she  return 'd 
>iieen;  and  then  I  swore 
«  this  caitiff  to  his  hold, 
k  his  pride,  and  have  it  of 

rode,  and  thought  to  find 
1,  where  all  the  men  are 

ic  murmur  of  their  boi;rs 
e  that  echoes  round  the 

ir  me  speak  :   but  if  you 

3n  arms,  or  if  yourself 
tell  me,  seeing  I  have 

pride  and  learn  his  name 
insult  done  the  Queen.'' 

^niol :  "Art  thou  he  in- 
sounded  among  men 
id  truly  I,  when  first 
y  me  on  the  bridge, 
«hat,  yea  and  by  your 

have  guess'd  you  one  of 

hnll  nt  Camelot. 

ni  foolish  flattery  ; 

ith  often  heard  me  praise 

lid  often  when  I  paused 

d  ever  loved  to  hear ; 

se  of  noble  deeds 

see  but  acts  of  wrong  • 

an  such  a  pair 

den  ;  first  Limours, 

en  to  brawls  and  wine 

e  woo'd  ;    and  be  he 


Because  my  means  were  -cmewhat  broken 

Thro'  open  doors  and  hospitality  • 
Ka.aed  my  own  torti,  against  me  in  the  nieht 
LMore  my  Li.id's  birthday,  sack'd  my  hZse' 

I!-.il   that  new  fort  to  overawe  my  friends. 
Jnr  truly  there  are  those  who  love  r^e  m  ■ 
And  keeps  me  m  this  ruinous  castle  here    ' 

'dealh.  "  ''°"'''  »'"'  -ne  sJonto 

litit  that  his 'pride  too  much  despises  me: 
And  I  myself  sometime,  despise  myself 
\,AT,  '"  "'",'  ''f-  •"""'  '•''^e  their  wi^y 

.'VI>U  much  Inn  iraiola    1., »  •  "J 


£:NtD. 


169 


A,  1 »,     i  .  V  "f'  ■"'"  "'»ve  iiieir  way  ; 

\  ".r  ul^''  •r?"="f'e.  '''•' ve  not  used  my  power; 
A  or  know  I  wTiether  I  be  very  base  '*^"'^" 
Or  very  manful,  whether  very  wise 

V;;;"y  foolish;  only  this  I Uow. 

1  hat  whatsoever  evif  happen  to  me, 
1  seem  to  suffer  nothing  lieart  or  liti^b. 
But  can  endure  it  all  most  patiently  ■- 

,   '''^••Lfa'r'ms?'"^*^"''-^^''^''  ««"'•"'. 

In'iUw  J"  i  *"I'P'«e,  your  nephew  fights 
In  next  day's  tourney  I  may  break  his  pride." 

An^^l' M.^r',H"r?'''^-'  "Arms,indeed,but  old 
■^nci  r  ihty,  old  and  rusty,  Pr  nee  Ueriint 

Are  ,n,„e,  and  therefore  at  yo     asking  yours 

But  in  this  tournament  can  no  man  "fit 

Lxccpt  the  lady  he  loves  best  be  there 

I  wo  lorks  are  fixt  into  the  meadow  ground 

A.Kl  over  these  is  laid  a  silver  waiid  ' 

A.^  oyer  that  is  placed  the  sparrow-hawk 

Ihe  prize  of  beauty  for  the  fairest  t^iere' 

And  tins,  what  knight  soever  be  in  field 

Lays  claim  to  for  the  lady  at  his  s"de 

Wifo'beinra'  rr  ^""'^  -Pl^ew  thereupon, 
vv  110  being  ap  at  arms  and  big  of  bonr 

Has  ever  won  it  for  the  lady  with  him 
And  toppling  over  all  antagonbrn        ' 
Has  earned  himself  the  n\me'"of  sparrow- 
But  you,  that  have  no  lady,  cannot  fight.' 


I      So  spake  the  kindly-hearted  Earl,  and  .he 
I  W.th  ^trequent   smife  and   nod   depart?!; 

Half  dis_arra'y'd  as  to  her  rest,  the  eirl  • 
Whoni^first  she  kiss'd  on  either  cheek,  and 

Am^'ke^'![  iiei-T/  ''^^"''^".  '^i'l  «  hand,         . 
And  told  hlr  all  .h"'*  «"''*  "f'Vn  her  face. 
pi!r  I"""":';  all  their  converse   n  the  hall 
Proving  her  heart ;  butnever  light  andsiad* 

When  weight  is  added  only  grain  by  e?kin 

No'r'dhi'shriift '""'  "P°"  ^" ^^^^  K  •• 
k^n»  i    .1     r  ''  ""  *y«  '""■  speak  a  word 
Rapt  in  the  fear  and  in  the  wVlider  ofTt  •' 
bo  moviiig  without  answer  to  her  rest    ' 
She  fomicTno  rest,  and  ever  fail'd  to  draw 
1  he  quiet  night  into  her  blood,  but  lay 
Contemplating  her  own  un worthiness  • 
And  when  the  pale  and  bloodless  east  Wan 
lo  quicken  to  the  sun,  arose,  and  raised* 

mtid  ""'■  '^"'^  '''"'*  in  ha'ifd^'^.hey 
Down^o^Uie  meadow  where  the  jousts  were 
And  waited  there  for  Yniol  and  Geraint. 


'^°  "^lied,  ^"■''"'  ^'"^  ^y"  ^»  bright  re- 
Leaning  a  little  toward  him.  "  Your  leave  f 
Let  me  lay  lance  in  rest,  O  noble  host 
for  this  dear  child,  because  I  never  s.'w 
Nor  .^f/'"^  ?""  t"  beauties  of  our   in  ^ 
And  i?  I'f  n*;^'^*bere.  anything  so  fair   ' 

^itS-KS^— jje^rmost. 

Danced  f^K'?^^""  P^"<="''  Yniol's  heart 
AnS  Inlb"  '"^  bosom,  seeing  better  davs 
Who  h..'"^  "■"u""'^  be  saw  not  Enid  there 
ff  th!?'-T^^  ber  own  name  had  slim  aw^y^ 
Anrl  f'^^Av        ,V^f'  '"  whom  tuil  tenderly 
"  M    her  alfJM'"''"'"^  '""  ^'^  be  saidf 
Amu  .  «fV  ^^"'f"  '^  »  '^"der  thing, 
Oo  hou  tSesfh '?'  '^"'■f  ber  understood. 
Tell  W  ,  ^   •  b"'  ere  thou  go  to  rest 

Pria«/.P'"""  ''"  ''*''«  toward  the 


^"'^aJrahu   "'"*'  '•'^  '*'■*'"•  ^"^  *ben 
Beheld  her  first  in  field,  awaiting  him 
\v  '^'  -r^"^  -^be  the  pnze  of  bodily  force 

ThrchSTn  '^'  --l^p-biitrc'ijiro've 

W»;»        u"       •'■'^-     Vniol's  rusted  arms 
X  nceH"ke'"hiP'"r:''  "^'T'  ^'''  'bro' "hese 

Frow'd''in%''n T"' »r^  ^''•'"^'^  by  the  town      • 
An  J.K     '  I"'*  je'tbi.g  Circled  all  the  lists 

AnH  n  "VJ^^y  ^     ■  "  fo'"^^  i"'°  the  gro  ,nd 
An^  T"  uT  ^   S  ,P'«ced  a  silver  wand      ' 
And  over  that  a  golden  sparrow-hawk 
Then  Vniol's  nephew,  after  trumperbiown 
Spake  to  the  lady  with  him  and  pTocWd' 
Advance  and  take  as  fairest  of  the  fa h^    ' 

thee'"  °  ^'"'  P'^'  ^^''^  *°"^'  for 
'^'"  fe'cef  ^'''"'^•"  ^""^'y  ^^^^^  tbe 
"^"''knighf''"*  ''  ^  w°«bier."  and  the 
^''b  s°me  surprise  and  thrice  as  much  dis- 

X""'',d.  and  beheld  the  four,  and  all  his  face 
(.low  d  like  the  heart  of  a  great  fire  a   Yule 
Soburnt  he  was  with  passion,  crying  out 

'  their  sp^lf  "■  ""'*  ''^"*=''  'bey  brake 
Ihen  each,  dishorsed  and  drawing,  lash'd  at 

.^°  °"c?owd"^  "^"^  """•'  ^^"^^  *bat  all  the 
^""''Si'^**  "'**  "*^  '^'°  '■~™  <»•«»« 


170 


ENID. 


There  came  a  c!.,.,i,l„ga.s  of  phantom  hand*, 
bo  twice theyr  fought,  and  twice  they  'jreathed. 

and  mil  '  • 

The  dew  of  their  great  labor,  and  -he  blood 

fore  °"*  '  ""^'''K.  drain'd  their 

.But  cither's  force  was  match'd  till  Yniol's  cry. 

Kememuer    that    great    insult    done    the 

(jiieen," 
Increased  Geraint's,  who  heaved  his  blade 

aJott, 

And  crack'd  the  heltnet  thro',  and  bit  the 

bone, 
And  fell'd  him,  and  set  foot  upon  his  breast, 
Andsau.    "Ihy   name?"    To  whom   the 

lallen  man 

NuddT'   '^'■°*"'"«'    "Edym,    son   of 
Ashamed  am  I  that  I  should  tell  it  thee 
My  prirle  IS  broken  :  men  have  seen  my  fall." 
ihen,  hdyrn,  son  of  Nudd,"  replied  Ge- 
raint, 

"  These  two  things  shalt  thou  do,  or  else 
thou  diest. 

fe  "i""."'r''l.'''  'I'y  '="^y  '""^  ll-y  dwarf. 
Shalt  nde  to  Arthur's  court,  and  being  there, 
Crave  pardon  for  that  insult  done  the  Queen 
And  Shalt  abide  her  judgment  ot,  it ;  next. 
1  hou  Shalt  give  back  their  earldom  to  thy  kin    , 
di^°'     "**  Shalt  thou  do,  or  thou  Shalt  I 
And  Edym  answer'd,  "These  things  will  I 

A°j  \}}^'";  "^''^''  >'«'  ^«e"  overthrown,  i 

And  thou  hast  overthrown  me,  and  my  pride 
Is  broken  down,  for  Enid  sees  my  fall  l''        j 
And  rising  up.  Re  rode  to  Artluir's  court, 
And  there  the  Queen  forgave  him  easily 
And  being  young,  he  changed  himself,  and 
grew 

l^t\!?^%  '*'/  ^'"  J"^^'  ^^m'A  so  like  his  own. 
Of  Modred,  Arthur's  nephew,  and  fell  at  last 
In  the  great  battle  fighting  for  the  king 


But  when  the  third  day  from  the  huntine- 
morn  " 

Made  a  low  splendor  in  the  world,  and  wines 
Moved  in  her  ivy.  Enid,  for  she  lay 
With  her  fair  head  in  the  dim-yellow  light. 
Among  the  dancing  shadows  of  the  birds. 
Woke  and  bethouglt  her  of  her  promise  given 
Wo  later  than  last  ev«  to  Prince  Geraint — 
bo  bent  he  seem'd  on  going  the  third  day. 
He  would  not  leave  her,   till  her  promise 

_  given  — 
To  ride  with  him  this  morning  to  the  court. 
Ana  there  be  made  known   to  the  stately 
Queen,  ' 

And  there  be  wedded  with  all  ceremoi^y. 
At  this  she  cast  her  eyes  upon  her  dress. 
And  thought  it  never  yet  had  look'd  so  mean. 
*or  as  a  leaf  m  mid-November  is 
1  o  what  It  was  in  mid-October,  seem'd 
ci     "■■e.ss.that  now  she  look'd  on  to  the  dress 
bile  look  a  on  <^re  the  coming  of  Geraint 
And  still  she  look'd,  and  still  the  terror  grew 
Of  that  strange  bright  and  dreadful  thine,  a 
court,  *' 


All  staring  at  her  in  her  faded  silk  • 

And  softly  to  her  own  sweet  heart  she  laid: 

"  ^'back"'^''  ^"""  *'"'  *°"  °"''  «*'''l'"n 
So  splendid  in  his  acts  and  his  attire 

"'  him  r"  '  """^  '""*'''  '  ''■•'"  '''^credit 
Would  he  could  tarry  with  us  here  awhile  I 
But  being  so  beholden  to  the  Fri  r  • 
It  were  but  little  grace  in  any  of  u- 
Kent  as  he  seem 'd  on  going  this  third  d.iy, 
1  o  seek  a  second  favor  at  his  hands. 
Yet  If  he  cou  d  but  tarry  a  day  or  two, 

felM''  "  "'''  '^t  ^>'  »'"'  fi"8"  •••"'"'. 
rar  lielei  than  so  much  discredit  him." 

And  Enid  fell  in  longing  for  a  dress 
All  branch'd  and  flower'd  with  gold,  a  cost!y 
gift  "  ' 

()f  her  good  mother,  given  her  on  the  night 
Before  her  birthday,  three  sad  years  ago. 
Ihat  night  of  fire,  when  Edyrn  sack'd  their 

liouse, 
And  scatter'd  all  they  had  to  all  the  winds  : 
for  while   the   mother  show'd  it,  and  the 
i  two 

'  Were  turning  and  admiring  it,  the  work 
I  1  o  both  appear'd  so  costly,  rose  a  cry 

fl  d"""'*  "*"  *"'  °"  "'^'"'  *"''  •'"'y 

With  little  save  the  jewels  they  had  on. 
Which  being  sold  and  sold  had  bought  them 

bread  : 
And  Edyrn's  men  had  caught  them  in  tbeir 

night. 
And  placed  them  in  this  ruin  ;  and  she  wish'd 
1  he   Prince  had  found  her  in  her  ancient 

home  ; 
Then  let  her  fancy  flit  across  the  past, 
And  roam  the  goodly  places  that  she  knew ; 
And  last  bethought  her  how  she  used  to 

watch. 
Near  that  old  home,  a  pool  of  golden  carp  • 
And  one  was  patch'd  and  blurr'd  and  lustre- 
less 
Among  his  bumish'd  brethren  of  the  pool : 
And  half  asleep  she  made  comparison 
Of  that  and  these  to  her  own  faded  self 
And  the  gay  court,  and  fell  asleep  again  • 
And  dreamt  herself  was  such  a  faded  fonii 
Among  her  burnish'd  sisters  of  the  pool  • 
But  this  was  m  the  garden  of  a  king  • 
And  tho'  she  lay  dark  in  the  pool,  she  knew 
1  hat  all  was  bright ;  that  all  about  were  birds 
Of  sunny  plume  in  gilded  trellis-work  ; 
Ihat  al   the  turf  was  rich  in  plots  that  look'd 
i-ach  like  a  garnet  or  a  turkis  in  it  ; 
And  lords  and  ladies  of  the  high  court  went 
In  silver  tissue  talking  things  of  state  ; 
And  children  of  the  king  in  cloth  of  gold 
Glanced  at  the  doors  or  gambol'd  down  the 

walks  ; 
And  while  she  thought  "they  will  not  see 
me,"  came 

l.*i^,*n'?i,^"\^'?j*''°?*  ".^'"«  *as  Guinevere, 
And  all  the  children  in  their  cloth  of  gold 
Ran  to  her,  crying,  "  If  we  have  fish  at  all 


Iier  faded  silk  : 

>  sweet  heart  she  uid : 

B  who  won  our  earldom 

»  and  his  attire, 

much  I  shall  discredit 

with  us  Iiere  awhile  ! 
u  to  the  PriiK  • 
e  in  any  o(  ii  , 
Koinp  this  ililnl  day, 
>r  at  his  hands. 
rry  a  day  or  two, 
•e  dim,  and  finger  lame, 
:h  discredit  him." 

iging  for  a  dress 

sr'd  with  gold,  a  costly 

iven  her  on  the  night 
irpc  sad  years  ago, 
en  Edyrn  sack'd  their 

had  to  all  the  winds: 
r  show'd  it,  and  the 

iring  it,  the  work 

istly,  rose  a  cry 

ire  on  them,  and  they 

veh  they  had  on, 
sold  had  bought  them 

I  caught  them  in  tUeir 

sniin  ;  and  she  wish'd 
i  her  in  her  ancient 

icross  the  past, 
'aces  that  she  knew ; 
er  how  she  used  to 

)ool  of  golden  carp; 
id  blurr'd  and  lustre- 

sthren  of  the  pool ; 
le  comparison 
own  faded  self 
fell  asleep  again  ; 
such  a  faded  form 
iters  of  the  pool  ; 
5n  of  a  king; 
I  the  pool,  she  knew 
t  all  about  were  birds 
1  trellis-work ; 
I  in  plots  that  look'd 
urkis  in  it ; 
he  high  court  went 
lings  of  state; 
in  cloth  of  gold 
gambol'd  down  the 

"they  will  not  see 

me  was  Guinevere, 
eir  cloth  of  gold 
re  have  fish  at  all 


Ut  thembe  gold :  and  charge  the  gardener. 

An/r','',''!*'  '""l*'*  ""'"^«  <■"""  '''<'  pool, 

A   '  ' 'e.rew.thal  one  came  and  seized  on  her 
Ad  tn.d  started  waking,  with  her  I  e.irt      ' 

And  lo  I  It  was  her  mother  grasninu  her 

Kl,       °f  bright  apparel,  which  she  laid 
Hat  on  the  couch,  and  spoke  exultingly  : 


KtrtD. 


»7» 


Then  were  ymi  shamed,  and  worse,  might 

shame  the  Prince  * 

I  o  whom  we  are  beholden  ;  but  1  know 
When  my  doar  child  is  set  forth  at  her  best 
1  hat  neither  court  nor  country,  .ho"  the^ 

TM?"  '1:"^''"  P'-v"'""  like  those  of  old 

match'!'""  ^"'"■'   '^'"'"'   ''"    ''«' 


"  ^"oo'k"*'  "''  *^*''''''  ''"*  ^'^"^  ''''  <=°'°" 

TImT  dl'i'fh^''°''''  '"''.  '=°''^"  "<■  ••»  ••^'"=11 
Whv  nnfP-,    *  ""-'"  •■*"'•  P°''»h  o*"""-'  wave. 
VVhy  not?  It  never  yet  was  worn,  I  trow  • 
Look  onjt.  chdd,  and  tell  me  if  you  know 

Pn^M  ^"''^  '?°^j^'.  •""  '"  confused  at  first 
Could  scarce  divide  it  from  her  foolish  dream   , 
1  hen  suddenly  she  knew  it  and  rejoiced        ' 
And  answer'd.  "  Vea.  I  know  it ;  your  good 


ly  night ; 

surely,"  said 


So  sadly  lost  on  that  unhappy  r 

Your  own  good  gift  I  "    "Yea 

,^         the  dame,  ' 

For"wh!lff.'''  <''''"  "«*'"  "''«  happy  mom. 
w    ^"Jf  "•  '.''e  jousts  were  ended  yesterdav 
Went  Yniol  thro'  the  town,  and  everySe 

All  Sler'd  th?o 'tr'^H  "'""^^  °'  o-  hou"^- 
^11  scatter  d  thro  the  houses  of  the  town  ■ 
And  gave^ommand  that  all  which  once  was 

Should  now  be  ours  again  :  and  yester-eve 

VrinceT"'  '       "^  sweeti;  with  your 
Came  one  wilh  this  and  laid  it  in  my  hand 
For  love  or  fear,  or  seeking  favor  of  us      ' 
Because  we  have  our  earldom  back  a?aln 

Yel  Stl  '  ^*"'  ^"^P"^«  «'  -"orn 
vea,  truly  is  it  not  a  sweet  surprise? 

Mv  L^y«"-.""*"""8'y  have  worn 

My  faded  suit,  as  you,  my  child,  have  youre 

Ah,  dear,  he  took  me  from  a  goodly  house 
With  store  of  rich  apparel,  sumptuous  ftr^ 
And  pa^ge,  and  maid,  and  squire!  and  senei- 

And  pastime,  both  of  hawk  and  hound,  and 

vJaTnTh'I'^"'  *°."°'^'*  '"•■>intenance. 
V^^'^^    ^  brought  me  to  a  goodly  house  ■ 

Let  ne.°r  4'T''  ^^  f'^'iy""  ^»'^"'  fa'^ 
She  is  nnt  2?'^== '  '^'"!>.  however  fair. 
And  sho,  M  ■'"  '"  "■="  ^'"'hes  than  old. 

Prince  ^'"'  court-lady  say,  the 

And^^f'''''  =»  "gged-robin  from  the  hedge 
And  hke  a  madman  brought  her  to  the  com. 


""'breath':''   ""'   '''"'^'^   '"""'"  ""^   "^ 
i  Thi'^'i"'  '.h'*"'1  .''^i«''"-'"i"K  ■■«,  she  lay  ; 
I  morn        *         ''"''  Slinering  star  „f 

I  Parts  fiom  a  bank  of  snow,  and  by  and  bv 
Slips  into  gohlc-n  cloud,  the  maiden  X  '^ 
I  ^"''    3^'ic*'*'"  '"'"'Jen  couch,  and  robed  her- 

Help'd  by   the  mother's  careful  hand  and 

Without  a  mirror,  in  the  gorgeous  gown  ■ 

'  said?  '""''''  '■"  ''""«'""  '°  °''^"  >"d 

AnH"rnn".V"'  'ri?  '•=.'-■"  *"=•■  "^''f  so  fair  ; 
And  call  d  her  like  th  it  maiden  i.,  the  tale. 
Whom  Gwydion  made  by  glamour  out  of 

llowers. 
And  sweeter  than  the  bride  of  Cassivelaiin 

i"'-/'^''  i^''"'''  '°^«  ""»  »<o'na»  Caesar  lirst 
Invaded  lint.-jin,  '•  but  we  beat  him  bTc 
I  As  this  gre.nt  Prince  invaded  us,  and  we 
I  Not  beat  hini  back,  but  welcomed  him  'with 

Fo"r''old'amT''"^  "''^  *["^  >'""  '"  """> 
Rnf  Vn;  .      •  ^"'^  T^'S'^  'he  ways  and  w,fd  • 
But  Vniol  goes,  and  I  full  oft  shall  dream 
Cloth-n''  P.nncessas  [  see  her  now. 
Cloth  d^with  my  gift,  and  gay  .nmong  the 

'^"*rS"'"  "'*''■""""  ">"«  rejoiced,  Oe- 
Woke^where  he  slept  in  the  high  hall,  and 

Ofufa'j'^;'^"^  '^'l'"  ^"'■"'  "'^de  report 
Ut  that  good  mother  making  Enidcav 
In  such  apparel  as  miuht  well  beseem 
Sl'P;:!':'.?^'  °rj^.^?«d  "'^  stalel^  queen. 


He  answVrM  "    "'"""  "'^  stately  queen, 
Alh»i?  I     •     '      ^"■*''''  «"••■«»«  ''er  by  my  love 
That  U  ^'-A  "° '•^'^•^*^"  but  mv  wish,   ^       "' 
Ihat  she  ride  with  me  in  her  faded  silk  " 
Yniol  with  that  hard  message  went ;  it  fell 
For  En^ir^;!.  TT.!.'  '=•/'"«  lusty  con,  :     ' 
Dared  nnV       ^H''"''^'  ""^^  "^"^^^  "<"  why, 

face  "  "'    "  ^"""^  mother's 

'  But  siletitl'y,  in  all  obedience. 

Her  mother  silent  top,  nor  helping  her. 

Laid    from   her  limbs  the   costly-broider'd 

And  rnhod  iho.»,':_  K ^      • 

And  so-Jescended.  '  N^ve?;^'an"Sc1S' 

AnT.  !""•  ^"?,'"'  '"K^"'  her  thuSed: 
And  glancing  all  at  once  as  keenly  at  her 
As  careful  rofcins  eye  the  delver's  tol         ' 
Made  her  cheek  burn  and  either  eveiid  fall 
But  rested  with  her  sweet  face  s^tUfied  •     ^ 


m 


17a 


ENID. 


W  if 


!  ;;; 


Then  seeing  cloud  upon  the  mother's  brow, 
HeV  by  both  hands  he  caught,  and  sweetly 

"O    my  new  mother,  be  not  wroth    or 
grieved 
At  your  new  son,  for  my  petition  to  her. 
When  late  I  left  Caerleon,  our  great  Queen, 
Ju  words  whose  echo   lasts,  they  were    so 

sweet. 
Made  promise  that  whatever  b.-ide  I  brought   , 
Herself   would  clothe  her  like  the  sun  in  I 
Heaven.  I 

Thereafter,  when  I  reach'd  this  ruin'd  hold,   i 
Beholding  one  so  bright  in  dark  estate, 
I    vowd   tliat  could   1  ,;,i;n    her,  our   kind 

Que..n, 
No  hand  but  hers,  should  irike  your  Enid 

burst 
Sunlike  from  cloud  — and  likewise  thought 

perhaps. 
That  service  done  so  graciously  would  bind 
J  lie  two  together  ;  for  1  wish  the  two 
lo  love  each  other  :  how  should  Enid  find 
A  nobler  friend.'  Another  thought  I  had  • 
1  came  among  you  here  so  suddenly, 
1  hat  tho'  her  gentle  presence  at  the  lists 
Might  well  have  served  for  proof  that  I  was 

loved, 
I  doubted  whether  filial  tenderness. 
Or  easy  nature,  did  not  let  itself 
Be  moulded  by  your  wishes  for  her  weal  • 
Or  whether  some  false  sense  in  her  own  self 
Ut  my  contrasting  brightness,  overbore 
Her  fancy  dwelling  in  this  dusky  hall  ; 
And  such  a  sense  might  make  her  lone  for 

court  * 

And  all  its  dangerous  glories  :  and  I  thought, 
mat  could  I  someway  prove  such  force  in 

hts; 
Link'd  with  such  love  for  me,  that  at  a  word 
(.Wo  reason  given  her)  she  could  cast  aside 
A  splendor  dear  to  women,  new  to  her. 
And  therefore  dearer  :  or  if  not  so  new, 
vet  therefore  tenfold  dearer  by  the  power 
Of  intermitted  custom  ;  then  I  felt 
1  hat  I  could  rest,  a  rock  in  ebbs  and  flows, 
Fixt  on  her  faith.     Now,  therefc.-e,  I  do  rest, 
A  prophet  certain  of  my  prophecy, 
I  liat  never  shadow  of  mistrust  can  cross 
Between    us      Grant    me   pardon    for    my 
thoughts :  ' 

And  for  my  strange  petition  I  will  make 
Amends  hereafter  by  some  gaudy-dav. 
When  TOur  fair  child  shall  wear  you^  costly 
gift  ' 

Beside  your  own  warm  hearth,  with,  on  her 

knees, 
Who  knows?  another  gift  of  the  high  God. 
winch  mavbe,  shall  have  leam'd  to  lisp  you 
thanks." 


Now  thrice  that  morning  Guinevere  had 
climb'd 
The  giant  tower,  from  whose  high  crest,  thev 
say,  ' 

Men  saw  the  goodly  hills  of  Somerset 
And  white  sails  flying  on  the  ycliow  sea  • 
But  not  to  goodly  hill  or  yellow  sea 

°''' Usk^  'a'"-  Queen,  but  up  the  vale  of 

f^i'lt  ''=»'''"eadow,  till  she  saw  them  come  ; 
I  And  then  descending  met  them  at  the  galc-^ 
,  Embraced  her  with  all  welcome  as  a  frtcDd,' 

And  did  her  honor  as  the  Prince's  bride, 
i  And  clothed  her  for  her  bridals  like  the  sun  ■ 
And  all  that  week  was  old  Caerleon  r.iv        ' 
For  by  the  hands  of  Dubric,  the  high  saint, 
Ihey  twain  were  wedded  with  all  ceremony. 

And  this  was  on  the  last  year's  Whitsun- 
tide. 
But  Enid  ever  kept  the  faded  silk, 
Keineinbering  how  first  he  came  on  her 
Drest  in  that  dress,  and  how  he  loved  her 
in  It, 

■^"j  =*)!  Jhe  foflish  fears  about  the  dress. 
And  all  his  journey  toward  her,  as  himself 
Had  told  her,  and  their  coming  to  the  court. 

^^  And  now  this  morning  when  he  said  to  her, 
i'ut  on  your  worst  and  meanest  dress,"  she 
found 
And  took  it,  and  array'd  herself  therein. 

O  purblind  race  of  miserable  men. 
How  many  among  us  at  this  very  hour 
Do  forge  a  life-long  trouble  for  ourselves 
By  t.-king  tr:e  for  false,  or  false  for  true  ' 
Here,  thro  the  feeble  twilight  of  this  world 
Oroping,  how  many,  until  we  pass  and  reach 
1  hat  other,  where  we  see  as  we  are  seen  ' 


He  spoke  :  the  mother  smiled,  but  half  in 

tears. 
Then  brought  a  mantle  down  and  wrapt  her 

in  It,  ^ 

And  claspt  and  kJM'd  her,  and  they  rode 

away. 


So  fared  it  with  Geraint,  who  issuing  forth 
Ihat  morning,  when  they  both  had  got  to 

horse. 
Perhaps  because  he  loved  her  passionately 
And  felt  that  tempest  brooding  round  his 

heart, 
Which,  if  he  spoke  at  all,  would  break  uer- 

force  ^ 

Upon  a  head  so  dear  in  thunder,  said : 

Not  at  my  side  !  I  charge  you  ride  before 
Ever  a  good  way  on  before  ;  and  this 
I  charge  you,  on  your  duty  as  a  wife. 
Whatever  happens,  not  to  speak  to  me, 
No,  not  a  word  !  "  and  Enid  was  aghast  • 
And  forth  they  rode,  but  scarce  three  paces 

on. 
When  crying  out,  "  Effbminate  as  I  am, 

\Ti  ']?f  *'?'''  "'y  "'■''y  "■■"'  g'Wed  arms. 
All  shall  be  iron  "  ;  he  loosed  a  mighty  purse 
Hung  at  his  belt,  and  hurl'd  it  toward  the 
squire. 

w  "^^,,'^u'  ^'S*",  *''3t  Enid  had  of  home 

\.  aq  al!  tj,e  marble  threshold  ilashint;,  sirown 

With  gold  and  scattered  coinage,  and  the 

squire 
Chafing  his  shoulder  ;  then  he  cried  again, 
To  the  wilds  ! "    and  Enid  leading  down 

the  tracKs 


rning  Guinevere  had 
whose  high  crest,  they 


last  year's  Whitsun- 


herself  therein. 


would  break  per- 


Thro-  %Wiich  he  bade  her  lead  him  on,  they 
past  '       •' 

The  marches,  and  by  bandit-haunted  holds 
Gray  swamps  and  pools,  waste  places  of  the 

nern, 
And  Wilde ;Mes:,es,  ].erilous  paths,  they  rode  • 
Round  was  their  pace  at  first,  but  slacken'd 

soon  : 
A  stranger  meeting  them  had  surely  thought 
li.ey  rode  so  slov-Ty  and  they  look'd  so  pale 
Iha  each  had  suffer'd  some  exceeding  wrong 
.< ^r  i^^,^^'  ever  saying  to  himself, 

O  I  that  wasted  time  to  tend  ujion  her, 
10  compass  her  with  s-.eet  observances, 
1  o  dress  her  beautifully  and  keep  her  true  "  - 
And  there  he  broke  the  sentence  in  his  heart 
AOruptly,  as  a  man  upon  his  tongue 
May  break  ,t,  when  h.s  passion  ntasters  hin>. 
And  she  was  ever  praymg  the  sweet  heavens 
1  o  save  her  dear  lord  whole  from  any  wound 
And  ever  m  her  mind  she  cast  about 
For  that  unnoticed  failing  in  herself, 
Which  made  him  look  so  cloudy  and  so  cold  ; 
1.11  .he  great  plover's  human  whistle  amazed 

fear'd       ^      ""^  "'""'^  ""^  wasTe  she 
In  every  wavering  brake  an  ambuscade. 
Then  thought  attain  "  If  there  be  such  in  me 
I  might  amend  it  by  the  grace  of  heave".     ' 
If  he  would  only  speak  and  tell  me  of  it." 


ENID. 


vii 


t^l^T  ^""^  "^^l'?^  P^'*  »"«'  sorrowful, 
And  down  upon  him  tare  the  bandit  three 

An7  '''^'°"g  spear  a  cubit  thro'  his  breast 
And  out  beyond  ;  and  then  against  his  brae; 
Of  coniracles,  each  of  whom  Ld  broken  on 

A  lance  that  splinter'd  like  en  icicle 
Swung  from  lifs  brand  a  windy  buffet  out 

Or  slew  them,  and  dismounting  like  a  man 
1  hat  skins  the  wild  beast  after  slaying  hin 
Stript  from  the  three  dead  wolves  of  VSn 

The  threegay  suits  of  armorwhich  thcvwore 
And  let  the  bodies  lie,  but  bound  tlesuTts 
Of  armor  on  their  horses,  each  on  each 
And  tied  the  bridle  reins  of  all  the  tb,^e 

BeTre  ro'/'-  ^nH  '?  ''^'^  "  ^^^  "'^"^  O" 
.te  '         '        ''"''^  "'*'"  ""■°'  *''6 


But  when  the  fourth  part  of  the  day  was 


gone, 


Then  Enid' was  aware  of  three  tall  knights 
k,  \vholly  arm'd,  behind  a  rock 
Lraitin?  fnr  thom   »-.:>:£r.  _ii  . 


On  horseback,  wuujiy  arm  a,  oenind  a  ro 
In  shadow,  waiting  for  them,  caitiffs  all  • 
And  neard  one  crying  to  his  fellow,  "  Look, 

rnn?„      ^  "n  ''?''''-'!■  '''■''"  a  beaien  hound  ; 
hoL"^      slay  him  and  will  have  his 

And  armor,  and  his  damsel  shall  be  ours." 

"  7tV\  ^''"\^  '^""l?''''^  '"  'ler  ''e.-"-f.  and  said 

And  I  will  tell  him  all  their  caitiff  talk  • 
tor,  be  he  wroth  even  to  slaying  me,  ' 
Jt  ar  hever  by  his  dear  hand  had  I  die 

shame"'^  ^"'^   '''""'"^   '"'^'"  ''°^^  ""^ 

^U^w   fu  ?'^"*  ^""^^  ■'"""e  paces  of  return 
'•  Mv  lorH  "r'^'"^"».'''"'1^y  fi^"''  3»d  said  :     ' 
Waif=n^  ?A  iu"^  ^'"■^^  ^^""^'^^  by  the  rock 
Tha  th^ev  in  m"  r"'  '"^  heard  them  boast 

And  armor,  and  your  damsel  should  be  theirs.  » 

V  "*."1^.^?  ^  wrathful  answer.    "  Did  I  wish 

Ila  d  ut,nn"^°''  ^■""'  "''^"'=«-  °"«  command 
1  la  d    pon  you  not  to  speak  to  me. 

And  thus  you  keep  it!    Well  then,  look- 

tor  now. 
Whether  vou  wish  me  victory  or  defeav 

Youfsl?;  TJ^^'  °'  ''"'?Ser?r  my  dea^h. 
Kourself  shall  see  my  vigor  is  not  lost." 


He  fol  ow'd  nearer :  ruth  began  to  work 
Against  his  anger  in  him,  while  he  watch'd 
1  he  being  he  loved  best  in  all  the  world, 
With  difficulty  in  mild  obedience 
Dnving  them  on  :  he  fain  had  spoken  to  her. 
And  loosed  in  words  of  sudden  fire  the  wrath 
And  smoulder'd  wrong  that  burnt  him  all 

within ; 
But  evermore  it  seem'd  an  easier  thing 
At  once  without  remorse  to  strike  her  dead 

fece'^  "  "'"•"  ""'^  '°  her  own  bright 
Recuse  her  of  the  least  immodesty : 
And  thus  U,ngue-tied,  it  made  him' wroth  the 

'^^^^  teard"^'^  '^^"^  ''''°'"  ^'^  °'^  *'^''  had 

Mint!leni'?Jr.  =  ^"^^"ffering  thus  he  made 
minutes  an  age  :  but  m  .scarce  oneer  time 
Ihan  at  CaorTeon  the  fuU-tided  Usk,  • 

Before  he  turn  to  fall  seaward  again, 

h^"Z% "^'^  ?",',''•  ""I^Pi'^S  watch,  behold 
In  the  firs  shallow  shade  of  a  deep  wood 
Before  a  gloom  of  stubborn-shafted  oaks 
1  hree  other  horsemen  waiting,  wholly  r.m'd 
Amf'sh^  on^eem'd  far  larger  than  her  lord,' 
And  shook  ^  her  pulses,   crying,    "  Look,  a 

ISd  airrrhJ'"'^  ""/"I  goodly  suite  of  arms, 
"  mIT  .      ^5"P  °^  '''•'""'  ?  a  girl :  set  on." 

^'''  ^hei"'"^  "^^'"'  ^°^  '"=  hangs  his 

WaitXr/T^"''^K"'"T!'>''  "^"'  h"t  one? 
Wait  he^e,  and  when  he  passes  fall  upon 

"  i^Jlm^K-'l  PT*^"'*^ .'"  her  heart  and  said, 
I  will  abide  the  coming  of  my  lord 

And  I  will  tell  him  all  their  vXy." 
My  lord  IS  weary  with  the  fight  before 
And  they  will  fall  npon  him  unawares 
I  needs  must  disobey  him  for  his  good  ; 
How  should  I  dare  obey  him  to  hfshu^m? 


V  ! 


I 

"r 


«74 

^"■^foTrr '  ''^"'''  ^""^  ^^°'  ^^ '''" "« 

I  save  a  life  dearer  to  me  than  mine." 
Whh*^  Hmlf  °f!^'  ^'^  ^°"'!r?r'  ""'J  5^'d  to  him 
"'  '1Joke^°"  '*''*'  '*•  ^P"king,"  and  she 

"^  wood,"'''  ""'"  ^'"^'"'  ^■°'"'"  '"  ""= 

fs"lar!.er'limh '',T  "  ''^''""y  "'"'''•  «"d  one 
is  larger-limb  d  than  you  are,  and  thev  sav 
1  hat  they  w.ll  fall  upon  you  while  you  pas  J." 


ENID. 


"  Jn7;r  .'i    ''*  """S  a  wrathful  answer  back  : 
And  If  there  were  an  hundred  in  the  wood 
A^dfn'ir"'"  T'-^!?^ger-li„,b'd  than  I.    ' 
And  all  at  once  should  sally  out  upon  me 
I  swear  n  would  not  ruffle  .no  so  ,n°ch     ' 

AnJ?f  f^/li"°,'  """^y  '"«•     Stand  aside, 
And  if  1  fall,  cleave  to  the  better  man." 


Together,  and  said  to  her,  "  Drive  them  ,  •, 

°'Vood'.    '"'  '^"'  '^"''"  '^"^  *''''^  'he 

He  follow'd  nearer  still;    the  pain  she 

Two"t's'o\"?l,lV!'!,'"''''";'y^  "^  the  wood, 
1  wo  sets  of  three  laden  with  i  ncline  arms 
together,  served  a  little  to  dfsedge^  ' 

And  't'PT'  "^"'■'"  P^i"  about  her  heart  • 
And  they^themselves,  like  creatures  gently' 

Bv  banHit.'''  hands  fall'n,  and  now  so  long 
Her  low  firm  voice  and  tender  government. 


And  Enid  stood  aside  to  wait  the  event 
Not  dare  to  watch  the  combat,  only  breatfie 
Short  fits  of  prayer,  at  every  stroke  a  brea-h 
And  he,._she  dreaded  most.'bare  down  upon 

Aim'd  at  ti.e  helm,  his  lance  err'd  ;  but  Ge- 

Inllil  S, 

A  little  in  the  late  encounter  strainM 

AS^h''^''v''^>'''«"^it''-"^^^ 

And  then  brake  short,  and  down  his  enemy 

And  there  lay  still ;  as  he  that  tells  the  tale 
Saw  once  a  great  piece  of  a  promontory,  ' 
Fr^i,  1?    ?  *^'^1"K  growing  on  it,  slip 

LmS"^  shore-clifl^'s  windy  walls  to  the 

.  ^ni^^fr  "^  ''"'•  '"i'  ye*  the  sapling  grew: 
So  lay  the  man  transfixt.     His  craven  pair 
Of  comrades,  making  slowlier  at  the  Prfnce 
"sro°od;      '^  ***  ""'''  bulwark  fallen,' 

Wd  wilhV'';°'''l°,  "°"'"°""^  them  more, 
apurr  d  with  his  terrible  war-cry;  for  as  ono 

ln'thr^''.r  "-^".^  *?T«"'  mouJltain-brook, ' 
All  thro  the  crash  of  the  near  cataract  hears 

L  HU,''.""'"""^  """J^^er  of  the  huger  fall 
At  distance,  were  the  soldiers  wont  to  hear 
H IS  vo,^^  ,„  battle,  and  be  kindled  bv  it 
And  foemen  scared,  like  that  f.lse  pair  who 
Flying,  but,  overtaken,  died  the  death 

cent'  ''"'"^'•'  °"  """"y  ^"  '°"°- 


'^''"[fnce^^"'"*'  ^'""'""""ting,  pick'd  the 

'''''  ti7il"',s'^'''  """^ "''''  f'-"-  »'^°- 

Their  jh^ree  gay  suits  of  armor,  each  from 

^"'^  ''e"ac'h'!  """'  °"  ""''  ''"'■'"'''  '''"'^  °" 
And  tied  tlie  bridle-reins  of  all  the  three        i 


So  thro-  the  green  gloom  of  the  wood  they 

And  issuing  under  open  heavens  beheld 
AnV^  i        u"  "^"^  *°"'ers,  upon  a  rock, 
And  close  beneath,  a  meadow  gemlike  chased 
In  the  brown  wi  d,  and  mowers  mowing  in  it : 
And  down  a  rocky  pathway  from  the  place 
hand"  ^  '^'^"hair'd  youth,  that^^in  his 

H/n^'fi!"*'  ("^  the  mowers:  and  Geraint 
Had  ruth  agam  on  Enid  looking  pale  ■ 
1  hen,  moving  downward  to  the    meadow 
ground, 

'  ""said       ^^"'^"""'^  y°"'h  came  by  him, 

"  vl^"'^'-.r '  'f ',?*'  '■  ,'.he  damsel  is  so  faint.  " 

Yea,  willingly,"  replied  the  youth;  "and 

you,  '         '         " 

A  Jjnni'  "'  ''I'P'  "'°'  ""*  '■^^e  is  coarse. 
And  only  meet  for  mowers  "  ;  then  set  down 

Th'.v'lt'^*!;,^"?  disniounting  on  the  swaT 
selves         ""  ^''^^^'  ^""^  *'*  'hem- 
And  Enid  took  a  little  delicately, 
Less  having  stomach  for  it  than  desire 
lo   close    with    her  lord's    pleasure;    but 
Geraint  "■ 

Ate  all  the  mowers'  victual  unawares. 

Ad  "  Rnv'"  ^°-T^  ^'.'.ru^'y-  "^«  •-''-'<•'«''  •• 
take  '  "'^"  ^"'  hft 

^  ''"'^  besT'^  "'"^  ^°''  guerdon  ;  choose  the 
He,  reddening  in  extremity  of  delight. 
My  lord,  you  overpay  me  fifty  fold." 
You  will  be  all  the  wealthier,"  cried  the 
Prince. 
;;  I  take  it  as  free  gift,  then,"  said  the  boy. 
Not  guerdon  ;  for  myself  can  easilv. 

fe^tch''  ^°°^  ^''""'^'  ''^*'^'  '■^'"''"'  """1 
Fresh  victual  for  these  mowers  of  our  Earl; 
For  these  are  his,  and  all  the  field  is  his. 
And  I  myself  am  his ;  and  I  will  tell  hiiii 
«ow  great  a  man  you  are  ;  he  loves  to  know 
When  men  of  mark  are  in  his  terri.orv  • 
And  lie  Will  have  you  to  his  palace  here. 
And  se_ive_  you  costlier  than  with  mowers' 

Then  said  Geraint,  "  I  wish  no  better  fare : 
I  never  ate  with  angrier  appetite 


her,  "  Drive  them  <:, 
i  drove  them  tlirn'  the 


still : 


the  pain  she 


vild  ways  of  the  wood, 
11  with  jiiiRling  arms, 
le  to  disedge 
pain  about'her  heart ; 
like  creatures  gently 

I'n,  and  now  so  long 
rick'd  their  light  ears, 

I  tender  government, 
oom  of  the  wood  they 

1  heavens  beheld 
rs,  upon  a  rock, 

iadow  gemlike  cha-sed 
Tiowers  mowing  in  it : 
way  from  the  place 
d  youth,  that  in  his 

vers :  and  Oeraint 

I  looking  pale  : 

ird  to  the    meadow 

1  youth  came  by  him, 

e  damsel  is  so  faint." 
d  the  youth  ;  "and 

le  fare  is  coarse, 
!rs";  then  set  down 
iting  on  the  sward 
aze,  and  ate  them- 

fjicately, 

it  than  desire 

d's    pleasure ;    but 

i\  unawares, 

"Pty.  was  .iMiazed  : 

have  eaten  all,  but 

erdon ;  choose  the 

ty  of  delight, 
e  fifty  fold." 
althier,"  cried  the 

n,"  said  the  boy. 
If  can  easily, 
rests,  return,  and 

wersofour  Earl; 

he  field  is  his, 
1  will  tell  him 
he  loves  to  know 

his  territory : 

3  palace  here, 

an  with  mowers' 


sh  no  better  fiire : 
3etite 


1  d^;:r^^5.r^--^^er,ess. 
Wuh  victual  for  these  men.'and  let  us  know."  i 


ENID. 


17? 


"  Vea,  my  kind  lord."  said  the  glad  youth 
and  went,  b"»"jouin, 

"'''^  knight"^  ^'^^'  ^"'^  ""°"^.'''  '•'•"«'="■* 
And  up  the  rocky  pathway  disappeared 
Leading  the  horse,  and  they  we^  lef[  alone. 

But  wh^en  the  Prince  had  brought  hiserrant 

""%&'''  "'"''•  "■'''^"y^  ''«  "^'  'hem 

^'  ^"doom''"''  ''''  •^'■°°P'-'  '""  °^^n  false  I 
That  shadow  of  mistrust  should  never  cross 
Betwixt  them,  came  upon  him,  and  he  sH°?d  • 
Ihen  with  another  humorous  ruth  rema?k'd  ' 
The  lusty  mowf-rs  laboring  dinnerless 
Andw.ch-dthesunblf.eonSnan,ing 

rsfr;:Sr!^ffi^^ 

Abnnf  L**";  T'^y  ^'^"^°^  "f  the 7aws      ' 
About  her  hollow  turret  nlnrUMTCr 


And  made  ii  nf  i„  „|„„    f     ^. 

1  o  laughter  and  his  comrades  to  annii 

''^^■■•iurs'''^   ^"""  -"--^^^^^^ 

';''°"a.!d%Vu''  ''''''  '°  "-  'he  room. 
To  your  good  damsel  there  who  .slf.  ,„    . 

It    r^       '    m 


An^"l,»fi"^^^"'  '"?"y  a  "'O'ce  along  the  street 

Push'd^from  without,  drave  backward  to  the 

And  midmost  of  a  rout  of  roisterer.; 
Femininely  fair  and  dissolutely  pIL 
Her  suitor  in  old  years  hpfnr«  r-*^  • ' 
Enter'd,  the  wild  ford  of  tKoe''?'' 

Acconim.  M&EE'S''  :i""f'»~«ly   ' 


i:;ffY'''"d;;'r4"=e"'"'-' 

here  .^  ^*  yo" 

X""  a^e  in  my  power  at  last,  are  in  my  power 
Ye  fear  me  not :  I  call  mine  own  self^wH^ 

'Hf&S;^t:^:-3':^,     _• 
i»%^^-SF"• 
M"kemeaZr,'^°"?'^^^P"back 

,  And  Enid,  you^°  d  ^.^''r'^^ht.of  all  you  arc. 

|Foncalli^tve.^?-;^-y--oUld?' 
Tho  men  „,ay  bicler  with  Wil^Z  they 
They  would  not  make  them  laughable  in  all 

^°'    tetihl^dre'sr    '''-■    ^^    ^^^ 

Yors'to'r^''t'hlt"'th?s"m^°"','"'"*''^^f-^'<» 
X- bea?t;?s^'nSearv  rh^^^^o^  '"°^»- 
A  common^ch_ance  -  right  weiri"know  it  - 

S\£pri;r--rsac. 
'  wii("orL^^eet°Jrf.r.r,f7'^  i 

He  sits  unarm'd  ;  I  bold  a  finger  ud  • 

No  stronger  than  a  w',11 :  the?eTs°tt  keep; 


!     »'' 


T76 


ENID. 


V\\ 


iMhi: 


V'. 


'■  % 


He  shall  not  cross  us  more ;  speak  but  the 

word  : 
Or  speak  it  not ;  but  then  by  Him  that  made 

me 
The  one  true  lover  which  you  ever  had, 
I  will  make  use  of  all  the  power  I  have 
O  pardon  me  !  the  madness  of  that  hour, 
When  first  I  parted  from  you,  moves  me  yet" 

At  this  the  tender  sound  of  h! ;  nwn  voice 
And  sweet  self-pity,  or  tho  fa.irv  of  it, 
Made  his  eye  moist;   but  Eiii.l  foar'd  his 

eyes, 
Moist  as  they  were,  wine-heated  from  the 

•east ; 
And  answers  with  such  craft  as  women  use. 
Guilty  or  guiltless,  to  stave  off  a  chance 
mat  breaks  upon  them  perilously,  and  said  : 

A  '  j^*'"''  '^  y°"  '"v«  "le  as  in  former  years. 
And  do  not  practise  on  me,  come  with  morn, 
And  snatch  me  fi-om  him  as  by  violence  • 
Leave  me  lo-night ;  I  am  weary  to  the  death." 

Low  at  leave-taking,  with  his  brandish'd 

plume 
Brushing  his  instep,  bow'd  the  all-amorous 

Earl, 
And  the  stout  Prince  bade  him  a  loud  pood- 

nipht.  * 

He  moving  homeward  babbled  to  his  men, 
How  Lnid  never  loved  a  man  but  him 
Nor  cared  a  broken  egg-shell  for  her  lord. 

But  Enid  left  alone  with  Prince  Geraint. 
Debating  his  command  of  silence  given 
And  that  she  now  perforce  must  violate  it, 
JJeid  commune  with  herself,  and  while  she 

held 
He  fell  asleep,  and  Enid  had  no  heart 
To  wake  him,  but  hung  o'er  him,  wholly 

pleased 
To  find  him  yet  unwounded  after  fight. 
And  hear  him  breathing  low  and  equally. 
Anon  she  rose,  and  stepping  lightly,  heap'd 

ill    '  '."^"^  °'  "'^  ""^""^ '"  ""e  pi.ice, 
All  to  be  there  against  a  sudden  need  ; 
Ihen  dozed  awhile  herself,  but  overtoil'd 
By  that  day's  grief  and  travel,  evermore 
Seem  d  catching  at  a  rootless  thorn,  and  then 
Went  slipping  down  horrible  precipices, 
And  strongly  stnking  out  her  limbs  awoke: 
men  thought  she  heard  the  wild  Earl  at  the 

door, 
With  all  his  rout  of  random  followers, 
bound  on  a  dreadful  trumpet,  summoning  her; 
Which  was  the  red  cock  shouting  to  the  light 
As  the  gray  dawn  stole  o'er  the  dewy  world 
And  glimmer'd  on  his  armor  in  the  room. 
And  once  again  she  rose  to  look  at  it, 
«ut  touch'd  it  unawares :  jangling,  the  casque 
*  ell,  and  he  started  up  and  stared  at  her. 
1  Men  breaking  his  command  of  silence  gn-en. 
She  told  him  all  that  Earl  Limouis  had  said] 
xt'^^.P'^""^  passage  that  be  loved  her  not  ; 
Nor  left  untold  the  craft  herself  had  used  : 
out  ended  with  apology  so  sweet, 
Low-sf)oken,  and  of  so  few  words,  and  seeni'd 
so  justified  by  that  necessity. 


That  tho-  he  thought  "was  it  for  him  sh^ 
wept 
j  In  Devon?"  he  but  gave  a  wrathful  groan 
I  baying     your  sweet  fares  make  good  fellows 
fools 
And  traitors.    Call  the  host  and  bid  him  bring 
Charger  .nd  palfrev."    So  she  glided  out    ^ 
AnH°!]f  ''^^h-^^^y  V/a'hings  of  the  house, 
R«,    •!!  'V ''°"^«ho  d  Spirit  at  the  walls 
Beat    ill  she  woke  the  sleepers,  and  retuni'd  : 
1  hen  tending  i.cr  rough  lord,  tho'  alt  una.sk'd. 
In  silence,  did  him  service  as  a  squire  ; 
Tm  issuing  arm'd  he  found  the  host  and  cried 
Ihy  reckoning,  friend?"  and  ere  he  leamt 
It,      lake 

(."■^IHl^ni'''?  ^""-^  "'^''"  ^""'"■'' "  ■  3"d  the  host, 
Suddenly  honest,  answer'd  in  amnze. 

My  lord,  J  scarce  have  spent  the  worth  of 

"You  will  be  all  the  wealthier,"  said  the 

Prince, 
And  then  to  Enid,  "  Forward  !  and  to-day 
1  charge  vou,  Enid,  more  especially, 
Wnat  thn  -  soever  you  may  hear  or  see, 
Or  fancy  (t-  .)'  I  count  it  of  small  use 
1  o  charge  you)  that  you  speak  not  but  obey," 

And  Enid  answer'd,   "  Yea,  my  lord,   I 
know 
Your  wish,  and  would  obey  :  but  riding  first, 
,  I  hear  the  violent  threats  you  do  not  hear, 
I  1  see  the  danger  which  you  cannot  see  ; 
Ihen  not  to  give  you  warning,  that  seems 

hard  : 
Almost  beyond  me  :  yet  I  would  obey." 

"Yea  so,"  said  he,  "do  it:  be  not  too 

wise ; 
Seeing  that  you  are  wedded  to  a  man. 
Not  quite  mismated  with  a  yawning  clown 
Hut  one  with  arms  to  guard  his  head  and 

yours. 
With  eyes  to  find  you  out  however  far 
And  ears  to  hear  you  even  in  his  dreams." 

With  that  he  turned  and  looked  as  keenly  at 

her  ■' 

As  careful  robins  eye  the  delver's  toil ; 
And  that  within  her  which  a  w.intnn  fool. 
Or  hasty  judgf  A  would  have  called  her  guilt 
Made  her  cheek  burn  and  either  evelid  fall 
And  Geraint  look'd  and  was  not  satisfied. 

Then  forward  by  a   way  which,  beaten 
broad. 
Led  from  the  territory  of  false  Limours 
To  the  waste  earldom  of  another  earl, 
Doorm,  whom  his  shaking  vassals  call'd  the 

Bull, 
Went  Enid  with  her  sullen  follower  on. 
Once  she  look'd  back,  and  when  she  saw  him 
ride 

More  nearby  many  a  rood  than  yestermom. 
It  wellnigh  made  her  cheerful ;  till  Geraint 
Waving  an  angry  hand  as  who  should  say 
You  watch    me,"  saddened  all  her  heart 
again. 
But  whUe  the  sun  yet  beat  a  dewy  blade, 


;ht  "was  it  for  him  shi 


le  host  and  bid  him  bring 

So  she  glided  out 
■eathings  of  the  house, 
1  Spirit  at  the  walls 
0  sleepers,  and  retuni'd  : 
igh  lord,  tho' alt  iinask'd, 
crvice  as  a  squire  ; 
found  the  host  and  cried 
snd?"  and  ere  he  learnt 

armors  "  ;  and  the  host, 

iwcr'd  in  amaze, 

ave  spent  the  worth  of 

le  wealthier,"  said  the 


d,   "Yea,   my  lord,   I 


d  looked  as  keenly  at 


way  which,  beaten 


c!^M      l*'^'"'"y  ^  heavily-galloping  hoof 
Smote  on  her  ear,  andturni„g%ound  she  s^w 

teno,^"'^Pr'\°^  '^"«^  bicker  i?,r 
Then  no  to  disobey  her  lord's  behest, 

A,  ,f  1?„  l°^T  •"'"  warning:,  for  he  rode 
As  if  he  heard  not  moving  back  she  held 
Her  finger  up,  and  pointed  to  the  dust. 
At  which  the  warrior  in  his  obstinfcv 
Becniise  she  kept  the  letter  of  his  word 

aVh  in'.L'"'"""  P'^^;^^-  ^"'^  '"^ning,  stood. 
And  in  the  moment  after,  wild  Liniours, 
Borne  on  a  black  horse,  like  a  ihuiider-cloud 
Whose  skirts  are  loosen'd  by  the  breaking 

storm,  *" 

Half  ridden  off  with  by  the  thing  he  rode 
Dai']  nn  ?"'"?"  ""."'"?  «  dry^hriek,    ' 

bore    ^''^'"  '  ''^°^^^  *^'"'  ^'"^  and 

Down^bAhe  length  of  lance  and  arm  be- 

The  crupper,  and  so  left  him  stunn'd  or  dead 
A  1  ?r"'^rew  the  next  that  follow'd  him    ' 

But  a  '.r^fll^h**  '^^°"  ^""'^  '°"'  behind  • 
But  at  the  flash  and  motion  of  the  man 

They  van.sh'd  panic-stricken,  like  a  shoal 
Of  darting  fish,  that  on  a  summer  morn 
Adown  the  crystal  dikes  at  CameloT 
Comeslipping  o  er  their  shadows  on  the  sand 
H,"?  i'y."  ""v"  .who  stands  upon  the  brink      ' 
But  lift  a  shining  hand  against  the  sun 
There  is  not  left  the  twinkle  of  a  fin 
^n     "'  'hecressy  islets  white  in  flower- 
bed alPth.'^r  ^'  '^'  '"°".°"  °f  'he  mZ 
rieci  all  the  boon  compan  ons  of  the  Earl 
And  left  h.m  lying  in  the  public  wayf     ' 
So  vanish  friendships  only  made  in  wine. 


'77 


\  AnH^J.'  eye  darkcn'd  and  his  helmc!  waee'd  • 
And  at  a  sudden  swerving  of  the  ro  id  ^  ' 
Iho'  hanni  V  rlnu,„  „.,  _  ?.„>     ,'^"'"' 


,,,,,-,•  "  --"•Jtii  awcrvingot  the  roifl 
1  ho-  happily  down  on  a  lank  of  gn  's 
Ihe  Prince,  without  a  word,  from\Ys  horse 

tJn'^Uf  f"'^  ''^''"■''  'he  clashing  of  his  fall 
Suddenly  came,  and  at  his  side  all  pal  ' 
r  smouiuing,  loosed  the  fast^i filli's^'^r  hi. 

Had  bared  her  .orehend  to  tlm  m;       • 
Andswa^geLr^'lll^t'S^^^^Prr 

Upon  her,  and  she  wept  besidefhe  way. 


at  a  dewy  blade, 


Wh         *.t  *'°u'''^y  sunlight  smiled  Geraint 
Who  saw  the  chargers  of  the  two  that  fell   ' 
Miv      ".y:  '^'^  fallen  lords,  and  wildly  fly 
with  the  flyers.    "  Horse  and  man."^he 

V^l'fh°"^r'?''r'''^  ^"^  all  right-honest  friends  ' 
Was  l.onl'''^' '  ^5^  ^-  !?"hinks  till  no"      ' 
arrns!"^^      ""''^    ^°'^'  ^""^  with 
I  cannot  steal  or  plunder,  no  nor  beg  : 
And  so  what  say  you.  shall  we  sfrip  him 

I  too  would  still  be  houest."    Thus  he  <«„M  ■ 
And  sadly  gazing  on  her  bridle  re"ns  ' 

And  ans^wering  not  one  word.  sTe'led  the 

in  f^  :&  SonU  °  f't?^o^;if  •'^ 

S  d  so"?'r""'  '"'^  ""^°'-  secret  lyT"' 
Whif  -iM  t°"'  r"'  fo'd  his  gentle  wife 
What  ail'd  h.m,  hardly  knowfng  i|  hiliself. 

13 


And  many  past,  but  none  regarded  her 

V.if    ,■  a,.'n'^^'o?  'o  the  bandit  Earl  • 
Half  whistling  and  half  singing  a  coarse  so,,'. 
\     f[°"^'he  dust  against  her  veil°esseves^' 
Another,  flymg  from  the  wrath  of  Doorm 
Before  an  ever-fancied  arrow,  made 
Ihe  long  way  smcke  beneath  him  in    hi. 

And 'scour'hiftf^hr  ^'^'"."^'"8  "fed  heel, 
wi -I  ?u  '"'°  Jhe  coppices  and  was  lost 
Wliile_  the  great  charger  stood,  grieved  like'a 

''"*Doorm'°'"'°^"°°°  ^''^  "^"ge  Earl 

''  dead?'!''  '  ''«  voice,' "'whari  ■•'he 
"^°'h"as'te."°'''"'^'"'''"^"^"^''''i°all 
"  ^^°"^p;°«"'  °^  you'-Wnd  people  take  him 

Most^'uri''.im  l'"".°"*  '^'■"''^  ^"'el  sun  ; 
i>iost  sure  am  I,  quite  sure,  he  is  not  dead." 

'^'''notleaf,"^  ^°'"''"  =  "  ^■«"'  '^  he  be 
Why  wail  you  for  him  thus.>  yon  seem  a  chIM 
AncT  be  he  dead,  I  count  you  for  a  fool  •        ' 
Your  wailing  will  not  quicken  him  :  dead  or 

Yn«  mar  a  comely  face  with  idiot  tears 
Yet,  since  the  face  is  comely  -  sonie  of  von 

■■''hrih       ■"   "P-  «"d'bear  him  to'ouV 
AnH  if  h!  i-"*'  T^  'vill  have  him  of  our  band  ; 
To  h  de  hlnl^'  ""^y  ^*''^  '''^^  earth  enough 
A  noble  on";-'  ^"  ''  '''''  ""^  ^''^^Ser  t'oo. 


i: 


ill 


J.  I 


Illl'^ 


178 


ENID. 


RmH.«.      k  He  spake,  and  past  away, 

But  left  two  brawny  spearmen,  who  advanced, 
fcach  gro\yIing  like  a  dog,  when  his  good  bone 
Seems  to  be  pluck'd  at  by  the  village  boys 
Who  love  to  vex  him  eatii.g,  and  he  fears 
1  o  lose  his  bone,  and  lays  his  foot  upon  it. 
Gnawing   and    growling;    so    the    ruffians 

growl 'd, 
Fearing  to  lose,  and  all  for  a  dead  man, 
llieir  chance  of  booty  from  the  morning's 

Yet  raised  and  laid  him  on  a  litter-bier, 
bnch  as  they  brought  upon  their  forays  out 
I'or  those  that  might  be  wounded  ;  laid  him 

on  it 
All  in  the  hollow  of  his  shield,  and  took 
And  bore  him  to  the  naked  hall  of  Doorm. 
(His  gentle  charger  following  him  unled) 
And  cast  him  and  the  bier  in  which  he  lay 
Down  on  an  oaken  settle  in  the  hall, 
And  then  departed,  hot  in  haste  to  join 
1  heir  luckier  mates,  but  j-rowling  as  before, 
And  cursing  their  lost  time,  and  the  dead  maii 
And  their  own  Earl,  and  their  own  souls,  and 
her. 

They  might  as  well  have  blest  her  :  she  was 
deaf 

To  blessing  or  to  cursing  save  from  one. 

So  for  long  hours  sat  Enid  bv  her  lord, 
■Ihere  in  the  naked  hall,  propping  his  head. 
And  chafins  his  pale  hands,  and  calling  to 

him.  ° 

And  at  the  last  he  waken'd  from  Iiis  swoon, 
And  found  his  ovwi  dear  bride  propping  his 

And  chafing  his  faint  hands,  and  calling  to 

And  felt  the  warm  tears  falling  or,  his  face  ; 
And  said  to  his  own  heart,  "  She  weeps  for 

me  "  ; 
And  yet  lay  still,  and  feign'd  himsejf  as  dead, 
1  hat  he  might  prove  her  to  the  uttermost, 
And  say  to  his  own  heart,  "  She  weeps  for 

me." 


Feeding  like  horses  when  you  hear  them 
fee-^  • 


But  in  the  falling  afternoon  return'd 
Ihe  huge  Earl  Doorm  with  plunder  to  the 
hall. 

His  lusty  .«tpearmen  follow'd  him  with  noise  • 
t-ach  hurling  down  a  heap  of  things  that  rang 
^K5'"st  the  pavement,  cast  his  lance  aside 
And  doffd  his  helm  :  and  then  there  flutter'd 

in. 
Half-bold,  half-frighted,  with  dilated  eyes, 
A  tribe  of  women,  dress'd  in  many  hues, 
And  mingled  with  the  spearmen  :  and  Earl 

Doorm 
Struck  with  a  knife's  haft  hard  against  the 

board. 
And  call'd  for  flesh  and  wine  to  feed  his 

spears. 
And  meii  brought  in  wholp  hnt/c  and  qu^rt-r 

beeves,  " 

And  all  the  hall  was  dim  with  steam  of  flesh  • 
And  none  spake  word,  but  all  sat  down  at 

once. 
And  ate  with  tumult  in  the  naked  hall, 


feed. 
Till  Enid  shrank  far  back  into  herself, 
lo  shun  the  wild  ways  of  the  lawless  tribe 
But  when  Earl  Doorm  had  eaten  all  he  would 
He  roll  d  his  eyes  about  the  hall,  and  found' 
A  damsel  drooping  m  a  corner  of  it. 
Ihen  he  Itmeniber'd  her,  and  how  she  wept  • 
And  out  of  her  there  came  a  power  upon  him 
And  rising  on  the  sudden  he  said,  "Eat  I 
I  never  yet  beheld  a  thing  so  pale. 
God  s  curse,  it  makes  me  mad  to  see  you 

weep.  ' 

Eat !    Look  yourself.     Good  luck  had  your 

good  man,  ' 

For  were  I  dead  who  is  it  would  weep  for  me  ? 

te    '1  ^i:  M''^rr'",?,''  ^  '■'"■'  "^^ew  breath. 
Have  I  beheld  a  lily  like  yourself. 

And  so  there  lived  some  color  in  your  cheek, 
ur     *£*  "°'  °"^  among  my  gentlewomen 
Were  fit  to  wear  your  slipper  for  a  glove 
Hut  listen  to  me,  and  by  me  be  ruled, 
And  I  will  do  the  thing  I  have  not  done, 
tor  you  shah  share  my  earldom  with  me. 

A    J    ^"■'' 

And  we  will  live  like  two  birds  in  one  nest. 
And  I  will  fetch  you  forage  from  all  fields. 
for  1  compel  all  creatures  to  my  will." 

He  spoke  :  the  brawny  spearman  let  his  cheek 
Bulge  with  the  unswallow'd  piece,  and  turn- 
ing, stared  ; 

While  some,  whose  souls  the  old  serpent  lone 
had  drawn  ° 

Down,  as  the  worm  draws  in  the  wither'd  leaf 

And  makes  it  earth,  hiss'd  each  at  other's  ear 

What  shall  not  be  recorded—  women  they 

Women,   or  what  had  been  those  gracious 

things, 
But  now  desired  the  humbling  of  their  best. 
Yea,  would  have  helped  him  to  it ;  and  all  at 

once 
They  hated  her,  who  took  no  thought  of  them 
Hut  answer'd  in  low  voice,  hermeek  head  yet 
Drooping,  "  I  pray  you  of  vour  courtesy. 
He  being  as  he  is,  to  let  me  be."  , 

She  spake  so  low  he  hardl  v  heard  her  speak, 
■Ji'.t  like  a  mighty  patron,  satisfied 
With  what  himself  had  done  so  graciously 
Assumed  that  she  had  thanked  him,  adding, 

Yea, 
Eat  and  be  glad,  for  I  account  you  mine." 

She  answer'd  meekly,  "  Howshould  I  be 
glad 
Henceforth  in  all  the  world  at  anything, 
Until  my  lord  arise  and  look  upon  me? " 

A  H?,'^'''^  'luge  Earl  cried  out  upon  her  talk, 
As  all  but  empty  heart  and  weariness 
A  "j  u       V  "othi'ig  ;  suddenly  seir-ed  on  her, 
And  bare  her  by  mnm  violt-nce  (o  the  board, 
And   thrust  ^the    dish    before    her,   crying, 

„,."  No,  no,"  said  Enid,  vext,  "  I  will  not  eat, 
1  111  yonder  man  upon  the  bier  arise, 


orses  when  you  hear  them 

c  far  back  into  herself. 
1  ways  of  the  lawless  tribe 
loorm  had  eaten  all  he  would 
IS  about  the  hall,  and  found' 
ng  in  a  corner  of  it. 
Jer'd  her,  and  how  she  wept ; 
ere  came  a  power  upon  him : 
e  sudden  he  said,  "  Eat  I 
Id  a  thing  so  pale, 
makes  me  mad  to  see  you 

rself.     Good  luck  had  your 

who  is  it  would  weep  for  me  ? 
r  smce  I  first  drew  breath, 
lily  like  yourself 
d  some  color  in  your  cheek, 
among  my  gentlewomen 
your  slipper  for  a  glove, 
and  by  me  be  ruled, 
thing  I  have  not  done, 
lare  my  earldom  with  me, 

ike  two  birds  in  one  nest, 
ou  forage  from  all  fields, 
:reaturesto  my  will." 

iwny  spearman  let  his  cheek 
iswallow'd  piece,  and  turn- 

ie  souls  the  old  serpent  long 

n  draws  in  the  wither'd  leaf 

h,  hiss'd  each  at  other's  ear 

recorded —  women  they, 

'.  had  been  those  gracious 

be  humbling  of  their  best, 
lelpedhim  to  it ;  and  all  at 

10  took  no  thought  of  them, 
w  voice,  her  meek  head  yet 
'  you  of  your  courtesy, 
to  let  me  be."  , 

he  hardly  heard  her  speak, 
patron,  satisfied 
had  done  .=o  graciously, 
had  thanked  him,  adding, 

r  I  account  you  mine." 

eekly,  "How  should  I  be 

ie  world  at  anything, 
and  look  upon  me  ?  " 

rl  cried  out  upon  her  talk, 
art  and  weariness 
;  suddenly  .seized  on  her, 
lin  vioieirce  lo  (tie  board, 
ish    before    her,  crying, 


nid,  vext,  "  I  will  not  eat. 
an  the  bier  arise, 


And  eat  with  me."    "  Drink,  then,"  he  an 

I A  , /'^■y,'':'"^-  "Herd"        •    °  '•" 

(And  fih  d^a  horn  with  wine  and  held  it  to 

"  ^  'hot,""^"^""  '^''^"  """''"'^  ^'"^  fight,  or 
God's  curse,  with  anger  — often  I  niv^Plf 
dS  tVjr'Jf  '^^'^  ^r'ke"..-" .ce'c^^^'it  : 
your  wm'''""*  '^^  ^'""^  "'"  ^'»nge 

."''not'di':^  "'"''•" ''^  »"-".  I -i" 

A.nd  driiik  with  me  ;  and  if  he  rise  no  more 
I  will  not  look  at  wine  until  I  die."  ' 

At  this  he  turn'd  all  red  and  paced  hi<!Jiali 
Novg„a,v'd  his  uuder,  „o  v  iTupJeHiJ  "' 
And  coming  up  close  to  her.  said  at  last  f 

uiri,  lor  I  see  you  scorn  my  courtesies, 
Take  warning  :  yond.r  man  is  surely  dead  • 
And  I  compel  alf  creatures  to  my  wifl  ^' 
onr       "''•  ^'"^  wherefore  wail  for 
Who  put  your  beauty  to  this  flout  and  scorn 
BehnlT'"^  "  '"  '■^K^''  Amazed  am  I,         " 
St  I  fofh''"^  y""  l^"-'  '■'S'-'i"^t  my  v^ish, 
AuLst  ni?f  «ff?"  V""-  ^^••"ssme  no  more. 
rhl!J}J^     °^  to  please  me  this  poor  gown 
I  love  th,^Y'^^''''l'^"F'»'■-w°™^^'s  weeT:' 
1  love  that  beauty  shoufd  go  beautifully  • 
For  see  you  not  my  gentlewomen  here   ' 

wZ  fn'^'  'ir  \""^^  '°  "'«  hou^e  of  one 
R^i'°  r"  that  beauty  should  go  beautiful'lv  • 
Ri^e  therefore  ;  robe  yourself  in  this  "obey  " 


ENID. 


«79 


feeTloJ^H^?""'  "'■'>'  r"  '«'  ">«  be : 
yea  God    m'  ""  "*^^''  '°^e  but  him  : 

He^e^l-aUe^riefr^.^^.-''^"-. 

Then  strode  the  brute  Earl  upand  down  hi. 
And  took  his  russet  beard  between  his  t-Mh  • 

I  D^ne^'to  bfgrtl'e'.°h'aruS?e"v:  th  you  ■ 
lake  my  s.,lute,"  unknightlyw  hZteV 
However  lightly,  smote  Rer  on   he  cheik     ' 

AnH    •^""'V'"  '.!"  ""<=•■  helpless"  ess        • 
And  since^she  thought,  "he'had  not  dared  t» 

W  ?LV  ^"'^ly,  •'"^^  my  lord  was  dead  " 
Sent  forth  a  sudden  sharp  and  bitter  crv' 

wood.      '  '"PP"  coming  \ro'  the 


"'  Tm'en  '"'^  °"'   """""^   ^'  g^^'le- 
Display'd  a  splendid  silk  of  foreign  loom 
ffiv'd  inf  '  '■'"''""■"e  '^^^  "'^  'ovdy  blue- 
front    ^'''"'   ""^  "''*=■'"  cfown  the 
With  Jw^els  than  the  sward  with  drops  of 

Strike  wh^ere  u  clung  :  so  thlckiy  shone'the 

H'Sp^^i-Ko-^^k. 

"  ^"fi'ist!  ''"°'"  ^°''"  "'y''"''  ^°'^  '■°""d  me 
iirfhir^'^'™^  serving  in  my  father's  hall  • 

And  t'h^::°''tir  O  '  '"^^  "'"^  hin,  to  court, 
«nere  the  Queen  array'd  me  like  the 

Wl!e,!',fn°'"'  ^"""'"i  ^^  '^^'^^  ™e  clothe  myself 
Of  hn.r'''";^  '■"''^  "P°"  'his  fatal  J^l      ' 
aJ  ?  •  "■•  ''•'^'■^  "°  '^°n°^  "n  be  gain'd  ■ 
U  fll    ';' "T'^'?^"  l^i"  "°t  castas  de  ' 

And  bid  me  cast  .t.    J  have  griefs  enough : 


'^^'"  Sd,^'"'"'-  ''"^  ^^P''"g  «'  his 

Ml^''^'kl''''"h'''T'  '"  the  hollow  shield  ) 
Made  but  a  smgle  bound,  and  witlla' Lep 

Shore  thro'  the  swarthy  neck,  and  like  a  ball 
1  he  russet-bearded  head  roli'd  on   he  floor 

Ina  all  Sf/m^er™.'^^''""  Recounted  dead. 
A.iQ  all  the  men  and  women  h  the  hill 

Rose  when  they  saw  the  dead  man  'S.  and 

wire"feft',l''°"'  r  'P'?*'*'  '"'J  'he  two 
Were  left  alone  together,  and  he  said  : 

"''""diadrnr''°""°"''"'='"»''»t 
Done  you  more  wrong :  we  both  have  under- 

That  trmible  which  has  left  me  thrice  your 

And'ifi^r'.'i'''^  ^'^'■"  ""^'her  die  than  doubt 
And  here  I  lay  this  penance  on  myself. 
Not,  thc^^mme  own  ears  heard  you  fester- 

Vou  thought  me  sleeping,  but  I  heard  you 

I  Jwear  Twilf^'  .*''^'  ^^^  ^""^  "°  '"■«  wife  : 
r  rlTh  1-      '"  ""*  '"''*  yo"''  meaning  in  it  • 
I  do  believe  yourself  against  yoursflf, 

doubt  """^°''*"''    "'^"=^   ^^    'h^n 
^htth'^li^''''}^  ""'  ">:  °"=  'e"der  word. 

Rslv.nd  me."  "  Vcn,"sa;(l  Enid,  "letuseo  " 

With  a  low  .vhinny  toward  the  pair :  and  she 
K.ss  a  ,ne  white  star  upon  his  noWc  from, 


i8o 


ENID. 


!  ^.i^ 


•\     !;'i 


m 


\  4 


liji 


m 


piad  also;  then  Geraint  upon  the  horse 
Mounted,  and  reach'd  a  hand,  and  on  his 
foot 

She  set  her  own  and  climb'd ;  he  turn'd  his 

face 
And  kiss'd  her  climbing,  and  she  cast  her 

arms 
About  him,  and  at  once  they  rode  away. 

And  never  yet,  since  high  in  Paradise 
U  er  the  four  rivers  the  first  roses  blew, 
Came  purer  pleasure  unto  mortal  kind, 
Ihan    ived  thro'  her  who  in  that  perilous 
hour 

Put  hand  to  hand  beneath   her  husband's 

heart, 
And  felt  him  hers  again  :  she  did  not  weep. 
But  o  er  her  meek  eyes  came  a  happy  mist 
Like  that  which  kept  tiie  heart  of  Eden  green 
Before  the  useful  trouble  of  the  rain  : 
Yet  not  so  misty  were  her  meek  blue  eyes 
As  not  to  see  before  them  on  the  path, 
Right  in  the  gateway  of  the  bandit  hold, 
A  knight  of  Arthur's  court,  who  laid  his  lance 
Jn  rest,  and  made  as  if  to  fall  upon  him. 
Ihen,  fearing  for  his  hurt  and  loss  of  blood. 
She,  with  her  mmd  all  full  of  what  had 

chanced, 
Shriek'd  to  the  stranger,  "Slay  not  a  dead 

man  I 
"The  voice  of  Enid,"  said  the  knight:  but 

Beholding  it  was  Edym  son  of  Nudd, 
Was  moved  so  much  the  more,  and  shriek'd 
„^     again, 

O  cousin,  slay  not  him  who  gave  you  life  " 
u\,  Edyrn  moving  frankly  forward  spake  : 

My  lord  Geraint,  I  greet  you  with  all  love  ; 
I  took  you  for  a  bandit  knight  of  Doorm  ; 
And  fear  not,  Enid,  I  should  fall  upon  him, 
Who  love  you.  Prince,  with  something  of  the 
love 

Wherewith  we  love  the  Heaven  that  chastens 

us. 
For  once,  when  I  was  up  so  high  in  pride 
ihat  1  was  halfway  down  the  slope  to  Hell. 
By  overthrowing  me  you  threw  me  higher 
Now,  made  a  knight  of  Arthur's  Table  Round. 
And  since  I  knew  this  Earl,  when  I  myself 
Was  half  a  bandit  in  my  lawless  hour, 
]S°^%}?^  'Pou'hpiece  of  our  King  to  Doorm 
U  he  King  is  close  behind  me)  bidding  him 
Disband  himself,  and  scatter  all  his  powers, 
bubmit,  and  hear  the  judgment  of  the  King  " 


Prince,  to  the  camp,  and  in  the  King's  own 
ear  " 

Speak  what  has  chanced;  you  surely  have 
endured  /         - 

^'""^fluM!"'."""   '''''  ^'°"*  "  '■   "''"  °''**'" 
And  hung  his  head,  and  halted  in  replv 
Fearing  the  mild  face  of  the  blameless  Kinjr 
-r-M  .^'I^''  ™='dness  acted  question  ask'd  : 
lill  Edyrn  crying,  "  If  you  will  not  go 
To  Arthur,  then  will  Arthur  come  to  you," 
tnough,"  he  said,  "I  follow,"  aiid  thev 
went.  ' 

But  Enid  in  their  going  had  two  fears. 
One  from  the  bandit  scattered  in  the  field, 

When  Ldyrn  rei.'d  his  charger  at  her  side, 
She  shrank  a  little.     In  a  hollow  land 

''°"'  fear''''  °'''  ^'^^  ''^^*  broken,  men  may 
Fresh  fire  and  ruin.     He,  perceiving,  said : 


"He  hears  the  judgment  of  the  King  of 

Kings,"  ° 

Cried  the  wan  Prince:  "and  lo  the  powers 

of  Doorm 
Are  scatter'd."  and  he  pointed  to  the  field 
Where,  huddled  here  and  there  on  mound 

and  knoll, 
Were  men  and  women  starine  and  aehast, 
While  some  yet  fled;  and  then  he  plainlier 

told 
How  the  huge  Earl  lay  slain  within  his  hall 
But  when  the  knight  besought  him,  "  Follow 


"  Fair  and  dear  cousin,  you  that  most  had 

cause 
To  fear  me,  fear  no  longer,  I  am  changed. 
Yourself  were  first  the  blameless  cause  to 

make 
My  nature's  prideful  sparkle  in  the  blood 
Break  into  furious  tlame;  being  repulsed 
By  Yniol  and  yourself.  I  schemed  and  wrought 
Until  I  overturn'd  him  :  then  set  up 
(With  one  main  purpose  ever  at  my  heart) 
.My  haughty  , ousts,  and  took  a  paramour; 
Did  her  mock-honor  as  the  fairest  fair. 
And,  topplmg  over  all  antagonism, 
bo  wax  d  m  pride,  tliat  !  believed  myself 
Unconquerable,  foi  I  was  wellnigh  mad  • 
And,  but  for  my   main   purpose   in   these 

jousts, 
I  should  have  slain  your  father,  seized  your- 

I  lived  in  hope  tiiat  some  time  you  would 

come 
To  these  my  lists  with  him  whom  best  you 

loved ;  ■' 

And  there,  poor  cousin,  with  your  meek  blue 

eyes. 

The  trueGt  eyes  that  ever  answer'd  heaven. 

Behold  me  overturn  and  trample  on  him. 

1  hen,  had  you  cned,  or  knelt,  or  pray'd  to 
me,  .       r    jr  V.  1.U 

I  should  not  less  have  killed  him.    And  you 

came,  — 
But  once  you  came,  — and  with  your  own 

true  eygs 
Beheld  the  man  you  loved  (I  speak  as  one 
Speaks  of  a  service  done  him)  overthrow 
My  proud  self,  and  my  purpose  three  years 

old,  •' 

And  set  his  foot  upon  me,  and  give  me  life. 
1  here  was  I  broken  down  ;  there  was  I  saved : 
Tho    thence  I  rode  all-shamed,  hating  the 

He  gave  me,  meaning  to  be  rid  of  it. 
And  all  the  pe-iance  the  Queen  laid  upon  me 
Was  but  to  rest  awhile  within  her  court; 
Where  first  as  sullen  as  a  bea^t  new-caged, 
And  waiting  to  be  treated  like  a  wolf, 


and  in  the  King's  own 

anced;  you  surely  have 

sre  alone  " ;  that  other 

and  halted  in  reply, 
e  of  the  blameless  King, 
cted  question  ask'd : 
If  you  will  not  go 
Arthur  come  to  you," 
"  I  follow,"  and  they 

ing  had  two  fears, 
scatter'd  in  the  field, 
.     Every  now  and  then, 
lis  charger  at  her  side, 
In  a  hollow  land, 
have  broken,  men  may 

He,  perceiving,  said : 

isin,  you  that  most  had 

'nger,  I  am  changed, 
he  blameless  cause  to 

sparkle  in  the  blood 
ne;  being  repulsed 

I  schemed  and  wrought 
n  ;  then  set  up 
)se  ever  at  my  heart) 
id  took  a  paramour; 
IS  the  fairest  fair, 

antagonism, 
t  I  believed  myself 
was  wellnigh  mad : 
ain  purpose   in  these 

lur  father,  seized  your- 


Instead  of  scornful  pity  or  pure  scorn. 
Such  fine  reserve  and  noble  reticence 
Manners  so  k.nd.  yet  stately,  such  a  grace 
Of  tenderest  courtesy,  that  I  began 

&i.bdued  me  somewhat  to  that  gentleness 
Which,  when  ,t  weds  with  man1>ood!  makes 

Atid  you  were  often  there  about  the  Queen 
But  saw  me  not,  or  n.arked  not  if  you  saw"' 
Nor  did  I  care  or  dare  to  speak  with  you 
But  kept  myself  aloof  till  I  was  changed- 
And  fear  not,  cousin  ;  I  am  changed  in'deed." 

He  spoke,  aiid  Enid  easily  believed  ' 

0  whT^L"  "f^'  ''?''""'•  sedulous  ' 
TheTe  most'^n°;'if  ^°''  «,"°'  '"  ^"'"^  "^  f""-  ' 

thlm  ill  """*  ''^^«  '^°"«  ' 

And  wher,  they  reach'd  the  camp  the  king  | 

ThnJ'n^.if  '°  f?"^  '''^'"'  ^"d  beholding  her 

1  ho  pale,  yet  happv.  ask'd  her  not  a  worH 
But  went  apart  wfth  Edyrn,  whom  he  held 
In  converse  for  a  little,  and  retur^'d 
l^V^''V/[y  ""'  ""g-  "fed  her  f"om  horse 
And  ^ho    M^""^'"' '»"  P"'-«"«^^.  broTher-   ke 
And  glancmg  for  a  minute,  till  he  siw  Lr 
Pass  mto.t,turn'd  to  the  Princef  and  slid 


ENID. 


i8t 


op^e-ti^;c-^';{.rtey^'«> 

And  we-,^h.mself  nigh  wounded ^o"'he 
'°S'felt''''"«='°^''°-'d  the  Prince. 

Her  cor,s.ant  motion  round  him^'a^Tth. 

v•'!l^i''  u*f^'  tendance  hoverine  over  him 
W   h  diin'"  K«"''-*'.courses  of^.s  bTood    ' 
As  h»  !  Pf^'  '"''  '^'"'  «^"  deeper  love 
FiVAii  ?/,'"'■'"=''  that  blowing  Bala  laice 
F.lls  all  the  sacred  Dee.     So  past  the  daj.. 


"^  my'lerve"  °^  '"'"  ^^^  "^'^^'^  ""=  f°r 

|yh^i?i.Sruffif:^-l^ 

To  cleanse  this  common  sewer  of  aU  my 
With  Edyrn  and  with  others  :  have  you 
ThSS  orhiJis"^?e\"t'l''"/°'^'y/'^*"g«d? 

Si:3f^SSo?JriSU 

And  Th"   ti^e  wor  d  of*""  '"'•"''"  Tepents: 
Full  seldom  rf^a  man  renenf""""'^  "«'"• 

Tl.i.  work  oTSi™,'^'"'  ■,"»''  »''•«<' 
■^  tnousand-fold  more  great  and  wonderful 


,  On  whom  his  father  Uther  left  in  charge 

Men  weed  the  white  ho.^  on  the  Berkshire 

To  keep  him  bright  and  clean  as  heretofore 
He  rooted  out  the  slothful  officer  ^• 

^"S'ng!  '"'  ^°'  ''"'^^  ^"^^  «''"k'd  at 
,  Aiid  in  their'chairs  set  up  a  stronger  rac*. 
Wuh  hearts  and  hands,  a'ud  sent|"housand 

To  till  the  wastes,  and  moving  evervwher.. 

Then,^when  Geraint  was  whole  again,  they 

With  Arthur  to  Caerleon  upon  Usk 

"her  fS^"""  °""  moVe'embn.ced 

And  fh^^f}^'r  "?]?="■'''  '"'e  'he  day. 
And  tho  Geraint  could  never  take  aeain 
That  comfort  from  their  converse  wCh  he 


ThVnrl  A*'' '  "^""^f^"'  that  all  was  well. 
AnH  ffft   b  "  !.'*"■>""«  '^'-  a  space  they  rode 
And  fifty  kn.ghts  rode  with  them  to  the  shore. 

A,>d  th^r^'h''"^  '^f^^""^^ '"  "'^i'-  own  land 
I  ^"d  there  he  kept  the  just  ce  of  the  Kine 

'  AdJSh''^  yet  mildi;.  that  all  hearts  "* 
A  P5t!!.?!i^'.^"d  the  sp.teful  whisper  died  : 
'?■  J  "^''^g  c^'cr  lorcmoit  in  the  chase 
TheVc^K""'.!"'  ^"'l  t-.-'nament: 

men  ^"'  ^""^  ^nd  man  of 

But  Enid,  whom  her  ladies  loved  to  call 

Enid  the  rr.  *  ^^1'^'  people  nam'ed 
lijnicl  the  Good  ;  and  m  the---  "-ills  aro«i« 
T  he  cry  of  children,  Enid/        "  eS 


1^3 


mi 


Of  times  to  be ;  nor  did  he  doubt  her  more 
Hut  rested  in  her  fealty,  till  he  cmwn'd 
A  happy  ife  with  a  fair  death,  aiul  fell 
Against  the  heathen  of  the  Nonhfrn  Sea 
In  battle,  fighting  for  the  blameless  King 


y/P'/£M 


VIVIEN. 

■*  STORM  was  coming,  but  the  winds  were 

And  in  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande 
IJeforcan  oak,  so  liollcw  huge  and  old 
It  look  d  a  tower  of  niin'd  niasonwork. 
At  Merlin's  feet  the  wily  Vivien  lay. 

The  wily  Vivien  stole  from  Arthur's  court: 
She  hated  all  the    knights,   and   heard  in 

thoujiht 
Their  lavish  comment  when  her  name  was 

named. 
For  once,  when  Arthur  walking  all  alone, 
Vext  at  a  rumor  rife  about  the  Queen, 
Had  met  her  V,v,en,  being  greeted  fair, 

mood  ^'■°"fi*»'  "Pon  his  cloudy 

With  reverent  eyes  mock-loyal,  shaken  voice 
And  flutter'd  adoration,  and  at  ^t  ' 

With  dark  sweet  hints  of  some  who  prized 

nim  more  ' 

Than  whOjIJiould  prize  him  most;  at  which 

Had  gazed  upon  her  blankly  and  gone  by  • 
But  one  had  watch'd,  and  Ld  nSt  hell  his 

peace : 
It  made  the  laughter  of  an  afternoon 

Kin^"     '""''^  ''"*"''"  "'^  blameless 
And  after  that,  she  set  herself  to  gain 
Him  the  mcst  famous  man  of  all  those  times 
H,rf  h:.-U  ?K''"t^  the  range  of  all  their  arts! 

halls  ^"^  ''^'  ^'"'P^'  ^"^ 

Was  also  fi'ard  and  knew  the  starry  heavens  • 
?hl'  J^r'^L"  '?,""^  him  Wizard  ;  wlmm  at  firsi 

talk  ^''^'"  ^""^  sprightly 

Af^.r";"'' '''",''"..  a"d  faintly-venom'd  points 
Of  slander,  glancing  here  and  grazing  there 
^"'J/.'^'ding  to  his  kindlier  moods,  t*^,e  .See^ 
Woufd  watc^  her  at  her  petulance,  and  plav 
Ev'n  when  they  seem'd  tmlovable,  and  laug^h 
As  those  that  watch  a  kitten ;  thus  he  grew 
Tolerant  of  what  he  half  disdain'd.  and  Ihe 
Perceiving  that  she  was  but  half  disdain'd 
Began  to^reak  her  sports  with  graver  fits 
Turn  red  or  pale,  would  often  wfien  they  met 
Si^h  fully  or  all-silent  gaze  upon  him   ^ 
W^'^'^u.?  ^i  devotion,  that  the  old  man 

Would°fllHlrV'^"  "^'  "-^l!^^'  »"''  a'  'i^«' 
4   J  u  ,r  u'^^  "'*  °*"  Wish  n  age  for  love 

h"  waS  ■"h.tt''-'^^  r"^  ••  '■"^  '^"«  aV^m^es 
Fitfl    u       '•,,  *  '^'^^  "'"sr  ciung  to  him. 
ThLn  f.u"  *'"'k?"''  ^°  "'«  seasons  wen?' 
Then  fell  upon  him  a  great  melancholy  • 

K  '^"^"''  ~""  •>«  g^'-^d  the 


There  found  a   ittle  boat,  and  step!  Into  it  • 
And  Vivien  follow  M,  but  he  mark'd  her    Jt 
She  took  the  helin  and  he  the  sail ;  the  boai 
Drave  with  a  sudden  wind  across  the  deepi 
And    tmichuig    Breton    sands    they  disim- 

And  then  sliL'  follow'd  Merlin  all  the  wav 
Ev'n  to  the  wild  woods  of  Brocel  ande^' 
I- or  Merlin  oiice  had  tokl  |,er  of  a  charm 
1  he  which  ,f  any  wrought  on  any  o  e      ' 
\V.th  woven  paces  and  with  waving  arms 
1  he  man  so  wrought  on  ever  seenVd  tTl% 
Closed  in  the  four  walls  of  a  hol'ow  tower 
Worn  which  w;as  no  escape  forevermore     ' 
v"^  """P/e"'^  '^■"'  "'••""'■-'"  forevtrmore 

'cllLrm'  '"  ^'^  '"'"  *'^°  *'0"Sl't  the 
Corning  and  going,  and  he  lay  as  drid 
And  k.st  to  hie  and  use  and  n.inie  and  fame. 
And  Vivien  ever  sought  to  work  the  charm 
Upon  the  great  Enchanter  of  the  Time 
As  fancying  that  her  glory  would  be  great 

^""t^ncll^'d.  "'^    '""^'''^^^    *"-    »•>« 
Ihere^lay  she  all  her  length  and  kiss'd  his 

As  if  in  deepest  reverence  and  in  love 
A  twist  01  grid  was  round  her  hair;  arobe 
Of  samite  without  price,  that  more  exprest 
1  han  hid  h.r  clung  about  her  lissome  limbs 
In  color  like  the  satin-shining  palm  ' 

On  sallows  in  the  windy  gleams  of  March  • 

"ple'ne  "'""'  "^'"S'  ™'"- 

^'"  worid'''^'   '   '^^"^   '^°"°*''^   "''°'   "^« 
And  I  will  pay  you  worship  ;  tread  me  down 
And  I  will  kiss  you  for  it  "  ;  he  was  mute- 
ly nn',^  1  forethought  roll'd  about  his  bra  n. 
As  on  a  dull  day  in  an  Ocean  cave 

In  silence  ;  wherefore,  when  sho  lifted  up 

"O  Me^rlin'.'PP".''  ^"^  '^'^'^  ''""'  ^^^' 
O  Merlin,  do  you  love  me.'"  and  again, 

O  Merlin,  do  you  love  me  ? "  and  one 


more  ^°"  '"""^  ""^  '  "  ^"'^   °"" 

"Great  Master,  do  you  'eve  me?"  he  was 

And  lissome  Vivien,  holding  by  his  heel 
Writhed  toward  him,  slidedup'his  knee  and 

Behind  h'is  ankle  twined  her  hollow  feet 
1  ogether,  curved  an  arm  about  his  neck, 
Uung  like  a  snake  ;  and  letting  her  left  hand 
Droop  from  his  mighty  shoulder  as  a  leaf 
Thl  f-T'^f*""  r'g''' a  comb  of  pearl  to  p'art 

Had  wf  °^  'r*"  *  'l^''""!^^  y""'h  K°ne  out 
Had  left   n  ashes  :  then  he  spoke  and  said. 
Not  looking  at  her,  "  Who  are  wise  in  love 
Love  most  say  least,"  and  Vivien  answer'd 
quick, 

"  I  saw  the  li'tflA  pif  ~-.i  -,,-i-- 

I.,  A  .u     r  '— '-^"  s'ti  cycicas  once 

i"y^«h"!; s  arras  hall  at  Camelot : 

"child  1   ^^"   "°'"  '°»g"e,-.  O  stupid 
Yet  you  are  wise  who  say  it ;  let  me  think 
Silence  is  wisdom  :  I  am  silent  tii« 


)04t,  and  stept  Info  it ; 
but  he  mnrk'd  her  not 
id  he  the  sail ;  the  boat 
wind  across  the  deepi, 
Jn    sands    they  disem- 

1  Merlin  all  the  way, 
Js  of  Broceliaiide. 
told  her  of  a  charm, 
night  oil  any  one 
d  with  waving  arms, 
on  everscem'd  to  lie 
Is  of  a  hol'ow  tower, 
scape  foreverniore ; 
iiat  man  forevtrmore, 
liim  who  wrought  the 

fl  he  lay  as  dfid 
le  and  iMijie  and  fame, 
ht  to  work  the  charm 
inter  of  the  Time, 
lory  would  be  great 
greatness    whom    she 

r  length  and  kiss'd  his 

nee  and  in  love. 
ind  her  hair  ;  a  robe 
e,  thai  more  exjirest 
out  her  lissome  limbs, 
shining  palm 
y  Rleanis  of  March  : 
hem,  crying,  "  Trara- 

e  follow'd  thro'  the 

•ship  ;  tread  me  down 
It  "  ;  lie  was  nuite  : 
:<)ird  about  his  brain, 
Jceai)  cave 
round  his  long  sea- 

when  she  lifted  up 
id  spake  and  said, 
I  me?"  and  again, 
me  ?  "  and  once 


ve 


'ove  me?"  he  was 

ding  by  his  heel, 
ded  up  his  knee  and 

her  hollow  feet 
I  about  his  neck, 
letting  her  left  hand 
houlder  as  a  leaf, 
•tnb  of  pearl  to  part 

as  youth  gone  out 
he  spoke  and  said, 
to  are  wise  in  love 
id  Vivien  answer'd 

eyeless  once 

Camelot : 

ongue,  -  •  O  stupid 

it ;  let  me  think 
lilent  th<n 


And  ask  no  kiss  "  ;  then  adding  all  at  once 
.  'And  lo  I  clothe  myselfwith  w!sd„n,  "  3rew 
J  he  vast  and  shaggy  mantle  of  his  beard 
Across  her  neck  and  bosom  lo  her  knee 
And  cali'd  herself  a  gilded  summer  %' 
Caught  m  a  great  old  tyrant  spider's  web 
Who  meant  to  eat  her  up  in  tKat  wild  wood 
Without  one  word.     So  Vivien   cali'd  ^er- 

But  rather  seem'd  a  lovely  baleful  star 
Veil  d  11,  gray  vapor  ;  till  fie  sadly  smiled  • 
lo  what  req.iest  for  what  strange  boon,"  he 

"Are  these  your  pretty  tricks  and  fooleries 
O  Vivien,  the  preamble  ?  yet  my  thanks 
For  these  have  broken  up  my  melatXly." 


VIVIEN. 


«83 


"  Wh^r'A"  •-'"swer'd  smiling  saucily. 

voSe'"^  '  ''*^''  y°"  '°"°'^  y°"^ 

I  bid  the  stranger  welcome.    Thanks  at  last ' 
liut  yesterday  you  never  open'd  lip,  ' 

txcept  indeed  to  drink  :  no  cup  llad  we  • 
Th."?'"/„r">'^^  '?V"'^  '  '^""'d  the  spring 
llefir  ""  dropwise  from  tL 

And  llffi'-/  P'^-'y,  '^"P  "f"  ''°"^  my  hands 
And  kJew  nr::,"  ''""""8  '■  "''=">""  drank  , 
wo7d  '  "°''  ^^''^  •"'  ""*  P°°' 

°  "°  ^v'eV'''*"'"  "'*"  ""'S*"  »  8°^'  have 

^'"^  bearr""'    ''*^  °^  reverence   than  a  : 

And  when  we  halted  at  that  other  well.  i 

-nti  I  was  faint  to  swooning,  and  vou  lav       I 

DeeD^mlrj"'  ""  the  blosson;,.dusrof  those    ' 
Deep  meadows  we  had  traversed,  did  you 

That  Vivien  bathed  your   feet  before    her 

'^"'''woo"d  "'^"'''•"  ""'^  *"  thro' this  wild 
Boon^'li''.T°''"'"^  *''''"  ^  '■""died  vou  : 

\traVe-'""'''°°"'°"'="°'^'' 
Howljad^f^^ong'dyou?   surely  you  are 
But  such  a'silence  is  more  wise  than  kind." 
.,  A"d  Merlin  lock'd  his  hand  in  hers  and 
"0  did  you  never  lie  upon  th'  shore 
And  watch  the  curl'd  'white' of X' coming 

Ev'n''s1,ih  a  wail" Pk 7  ''"'^  ^"^^^'^  ''  breaks  ? 
Dark  i    the  ^«f'  f"'  "°'  '°  Pl"surable, 

Aod  »h|n  I  iook-d,  „d  „»  ,o«  following 
«<  seem  d  that  wave  about  to  break  upon 


And  sweep  me  from  my  hold  upon  the  world 
My  u.e  and  name  andUe.    "vour  ^1 

Voiir  pretty  sports  have  brighten'd  all  airain 
And  ask  your  boon,  for  boo.,^  owe  you  tlfriiS" 

.-orth'^!;.:'™,"^'  ''""'=  >"'"  hy  conf.iL,   next' 
I'or  thanks  it  seems  till  now  netlecled   hst 
tor  th^se  your  dainty  gamboirwlferefore 

^'"^  'sfra.igi'"'''"'"  '°  '*'''"«'=  ""d  not  so 


And  Vivien  answer'd.  smiling  mournfullv  • 
O  no   so  strange  as  my  long  fsking  U     ^  " 

yl-ur^       '"^''  *'  "'"'  '^''^  "-"^dof 
j  I  ever  fear'd  you  were  not  wholly  mine  • 
I       '  "w^'oi^r"'"  '"'•'  °-'d  yo^'did  me 
The  people  call  you  prophet :  let  it  be  • 
But  not^oZ-^those  that  can  expound  Ihem- 
Tha^  Thri''"/"  «P°"nder;  she  will  call 

iours    "'"     "^   P''*^'«^'""'    8'°°™  °f 

TlmiS,'  i"'  "'"  "^T*  -"i^'nisiful  mood 
mat  makes  you  seem  less  noble  than  your- 

Wbenever  I  have  ask'd  this  very  boon 
Now  ask'd  again  :  for  see  you  not  S  love 

:      giSm^"^""' ''  '^^''  -hich  ii°e7; 

i  \t°.Z  ^^"7  ^hen  you  saw  me  followin-  you 

!  mine.  ""       '  ""'  "'°"'  ^^^  "^«  ""' 

Must  make'me  yearn  still  more  to  prove  you 

^""^  Thlrm'"'  ''''''  "'"  '""'*  '°  '«""  «his 
'  Of  woven  paces  and  of  wavine  hands 
As  proof  of  trust.     O  Merlin^^teach  it  me 

'5eT  '°  ""^'''  ^"'  ^''".rm  us  bo^a'to 
For.  gramme  some  slight  power  upon  your 

That  I  should  move  it  on  you  unawares 

That  makes  me  most  indignant;  then  our 

Had  best  be  loosed  forever :  but  think  or  not 
By  Heaven  that  hears  I  tell  you'lhVdea!; 

As  clean  as'bioo  J  of  babes,  as  white  as  milk  • 
O  Merlin,  may  this  earth,  if  ever  I? 
it    hese  imwitty  wandering  wits  of  mine 
h   ^e'tHnt"  ^"'"''1'=''  ^">bVsh  of  a  dS. 
Mav  thU^h    ".  *"<=h  conjectural  treachery - 
May  this  hard  earth  cleave  to  the  Nadir  hell 
Down.  down,  and  close  again,  and  ifip  me  flaj 


t94 


:i     ! 


m  ^  c^i '  *'''"•"•  -X'*'''  -"y  boon 

l»l  wh,ch  Isca^     can  yield  you  all  1  an 
And  gr«."f   »y  re-reitcrited  wish 

inert,,?  ssrwrf  of  your  love  :  because  I  think 
However  w.W,  fan  )  irdly  know  me  yet  ••     ' 


t^/t^/£M 


hand  from  her  and 


And  Merlin  luosed  h 
said: 
'M  never  was  less  wise,  however  wise, 

Than  whZm'm"'  ^''"'  y°"  '»'k  of  trust. 

i  Man  when  J  told  you  first  of  such  a  charm 

Vw,  It  you  talk  of  trust  I  tell  you  this 
inH ',';'" V.l'^"='"''^'.*''en  1  told  yo      'hat, 
And  stirr'd  this  vice  in  you  which  ?uin'd  rnan 

lliro   woman  the  first  hour;  for  howsoe'er 
In  children  a  great  curiousness  be  wel 
Who  ha^vyo  learn  themselves  and  all  .he 

In  you,  that'are  no  child,  for  still  I  find 

I  call  ttl^u'^^'u'  ^'"=",'  '^'^^  'he  lines, 
1  call  It,  -well,  I  will  not  call  it  vice  : 

But  since  vou  name  yourself  the  summer  flv 
I  well  coufd  wish  a  cobweb  (  r  riio^Mt  ^' 
l^tlTI-n''  ''"'«"><=•<■  a..d  beaten  back 


ien 


But  since  I  will  not  yield  to  give  you  nower 
Upon  my  life  and  use  and  name  a„d  CI 
Why  will  you  never  ask  some  other  born  '' 

^^  bv  God's  rnnrt     I  t,.....^  ' 7  "  "  ;     .. 


the   tenderest-hearted 


And   Vivien,   like 
maid 
'^hat  ever  bided  tryst  at  village  stile 
"Nav^'nT,'''  ^"^'^^•^V^'id  wet^ifh  tears. 

maif-     '         "°'  wrathful  with   your 
Caress  her  :'let  her  feel  herself  forgiven 
Who  feels  no  heart  to  ask  another  Lon 

oKr"  '''"'"y  ■";?*  'he  tender  rhyme 
Yl   '"!*'"!«  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' 

And  it  shall  answer  for  me.     Listen  to  it. 

Fa'ilh  ^n°^*'  'T  -f^*  '"'  ^"^e-  '<■  Love  be  ours, 
Unfiith  •    ""'^'i'h.can  ne'er  be  equal  powers 
Unfaith  m  aught  's  want  of  faitli  in  all. 

Tu^lt  *''« ''.ttle  ric  within  the  lute, 

T  at  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 

And  ever  widening  slowly  silence  all. 

Or'  T.l'f  ''"'^  r'^  ^'"''"  "le  lover's  lute. 

That  rnt.^'"'-'^  '^"J"  i"  «*^""'d  fruit,  ' 
i  hat  rotfitig  inward  slowly  moulders  all. 

R>!/!h^?°^'*°'■'^  *'^*  keeping :  let  it  go  : 
»ut  shall  It?  answer,  darling,  answer  no 
And  trust  me  not  at  all  or  al  in  air 

O  master,  do  you  love  m>     nder  rhyme  ?  " 

And  Merlin  look'd  ai.J  } ,..  \  ■},»  ed  «   - 
true.  ■"  *°     - 

So  tender  was  her  voice,  f  :;.ir  ..^.,  fe 
So  sweet  ygleam'd  her  ey  ;,*  I  h..  .  !.c:"iears 
Like  sun4ht  on  the  plain  ^'V.n  d  •    t.wer^ 
And  yet  he  answer'd  half  indisnantly: 


"Far  other  was  the  long  that  once  I  hearrl 

It  was  the  lime  when  first  the  question  row 
About  the  founding  of  a  Table^Rou  °cL 
Ih,it  W.-1S  to  be   for  love  of  (Jod  ad  men 
And  nob  c  deeds,  the  flower  of  a  I    he  world 
And  each  incited  each  to  noble  deed*  ' 

And  while  we  waited,  one,  the  youngest  of  « 
We  could  not  keep  him  silent,  oNtheflash^?' 
And  into  such  a  song,  such  fir^  f     t^f     ' 
Such  trunipet-blowi.^s  in  it,  coming  down 
lo  such  a  stern  and  iron -clashing  dose 

S^h"er       "'°'''  ^'  'ong'd^o  huH  to- 
And  should  have  done  it ;  but  the  beauteous 

&ri,*'''  ""■?  "°'',*  "Psta'-ted  at  our  feet 
And   ike  a  silver  shacfow  slipt  away         ' 

Thro    h!  1:""  '"^.  •  ""^'  «"  ''^y  'ong  we  rode 
1  hro    h-  dim  land  against  a  rishing  wind 
That  glorious  rounder  echoing  in  our  ears 
And  cTiased  the  fiashes  of  his  golden  horn's 
Until  , hey  vanish'd  by  the  fair^ell       '"' 

Where^cfiildren  cast  their  pins  and  nails,  and 

"^'"fwir?  "*"•"   •""  '°"^''  '»  ^"h  » 
It  buzzes  wiid'y   ound  the  point ;  and  there 
St    Vivien  •'  T^  '  ""'^'''  ^""8  wasthat"' 
Thyme,  ^°"  ""^  ""=  "^«'  »^"' 

I  felt  as  tho'  'you  knew  this  cursed  charm, 
i  AnT  ?T?u^  =*  °",  "'"'  ""d  that  I  lay  ' 
I  ^""^   S.'Jl'^'"  *J°*'y  ebbing,  name  and 

"  n",^;^'!'""  '*"uJ',"''''  "'»''""«  mournfully  • 
AndT.hrn^^n'''' ''  ='*='y  forevermore,  ^  ' 
And  all  thro   following  you  to  this  wild  wood 

?n    n^'^  ^  \**  r"  ^«'''  '°  CO^fo"  you.  • 

mourn"  '^'=*''^''»^«  •"«"  '  they  never 

Ani''?.''  a^  woman  in  her  selfless  mood. 
And  touching  fame,  howe'er  you  scorn  my 

Take  onejer.se  nunc  -  the  lady  speaks  it- 

'  '^^^lie?™*'  °""  '"'"*'  ^°'^  "'■"*'  "  *^^°^- 

^"'  'wielie'  ''""  ""^  "''"'•  '''»'  f^""' 

y    ste  w'ere'^int"*  ''*  ">'"«>   ^'^^ 
So  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all.' 

"  ^^?^  ^^P  no'  well  ?  and  there  is  more  - 
i^is  rhyme 

Thi'I'l'''^'''''  Pe"'.  necklace  of  the  Queen, 
That  H.  .St  ,n  dancing,  and  thepealls  were 

Some  iost,  some  stolen,  some  as  lelics  kent 
Bi.t  nevermore  the  same  two  »i.teT  SuU 


'  'ong  that  once  I  heard 
IK  nearly  where  we  sit  • 
lie  ten  or  twelve  of  us, 
hat  was  current  then 
the  hart  with  golden 


it ;  but  the  beauteous 


but  touch   it  with 


he  lady  speaks  it  — 


^"'    mh?r  *''*  *'"*'"   *'^''"''  '"  ■*'"  "'='' 

?AtV  T'*'"  "'5l*  ~  "°  "  ''  ^'"'  ">i» rhyme ; 
It  lives  dispcrsedly  in  many  hands, 

And  every  mmstrel  sings  it  differently  • 

\  ct  IS  there  one  true  line,  the  pearl  orpearls  ; 

Alan  drenms  of  tame  while  wonan  wakes 

to  love.' 
True  :  Love,  the'  Love  wore  of  the  grossest. 

carves  ^ 

A  portion  from  the  '^.lid  present,  c.iu 
And  uses,  careless  of  liie  rest ;  but  Fame 
llie  tame  that  follows  dc.-th  is  nothing  to 

And  what  is  f.,„ae  in  life  but  halfdisfame. 
And   count,   CM. ged    with    darkness?   you 

know  well  that  Envy  calls  you  Devil's  son,    I 
And  since  you  seem  the  Master  of  all  Art, ' 
Hiey  fain   would   make  you   Master  of  all 


r/t^/EM 


««l 


Which  Is  the  second  in  a  line  .,f  stars 
lliat  seem  a  sword  beneath  a  b.   t  of  three 
1  never  gazed  upon  it  but  I  dre,.„.t  ' 

Tnn?,T  V^  '''''";"?  concluded  in  that  star 
1  o  niake  fame  nothing.  Wherefore,  if  I  fear 
Oiving  you  power  upon  me  thro'  th  s  charm; 
J  ha,  you  might  play  me  falsely,  having  power 
However  well  you  think  you  love  me  Lw  ' 
(As  bona  ot  kings  loving  in  pupillage 

oweO  '°  '^""'*  *''*"  "'^^  "■"«  »0 
I  rather  dread  the  low  of  use  than  fame  • 
If  you  -  and  not  so  much  from  wickedness. 
As  some  wild  turn  o(  anger,  or  a  mood 
Of  overstrain'd  affection,  it  may  be 
lo  keep  me  all  to  your  own  self,  or  els« 
A  sudden  spurt  of  woman's  jealousy, 
Should  try  this  charm  on  whom  you  say  yon 


A"^^¥jerlin  lock'd  his  hand  in  hers  and 
'■  r  once  wis  looking  for  a  magic  weed, 

u\a  r?,'     il-^"  ^?"Vt' ?'!"''■«  «■'"'  sat  alone, 
And  fhr'"""'^'?"^?''"'8h'ly  shield  of  wood 
Azure   nn  V  f '"•'•'"«  ""  "'  ^^"^'^''^  »™s,    ' 
In  dexter  chiel ;  the  scroll  '  I  follow  fame  ' 
I  ."    bP|f?\'"'^  ""'•  ''"'  leaning  over  him 
I  took  his  briK.li  and  blotted  out  the  bird 
Wi?h"i'v 'r''  Ci-ifdener  putting  in  a  graff, 
vl    . I^'^m''.'^"""'  '  K^'I'er  use  thm,  fame  ' 
wa"rds  *^^"         '''"*''  •  '^"'  ^'"'"- 

He  made  a  stalwart  knight.     O  Vivien 

Fo°r  Cf  lov  "^^  '°"  "^'"'^ y?"  '"^"^  '"«*«11 :  I 
Love  ^°"  somewhat:  rest:  and 

Should  Jave  some  rest  and  pleasure  in  him-  I 

Not  ever  be  too  curious  for  a  boon, 

Of  iCvnn  ^"^  **  P"-°of  against  th;  grain 

men!    '""^  ^°"  ''"'  ^''"''  "^'"^ 

oif'"?,''u"  ^"'P'"  ""eans  to  serve  mankind 
^hould  have  small  rest  or  pleasure  in  hS 

"L  .'!?'*'  '■)•'  ^■■'^^=''  'o  the  larger  love, 
'tATt'-^-  P*"y  i?""  ^"  ""•=  to  one. 
.cre^altT.  ''  ''''  ''^^''l'  '"^  P'-^e  again 
Vhit  o  hfr^' r"  '"'  "'^-     Lo,  there  my  b.o  ?! 
BecausI  I  wshM ?''"•'""!'''  '"P"-"^"  ">«  vile 
And  "hen  did  P„     ^''"i?  tf"""  greater  minds ; 
«na  men  did  Jin vy  call  me  Dev  I's  son  • 

Her  own  ?Ial f"  ''u""'  ?''*  '^^  and  brought 
heart  '  ""'^  wounded  her  own  j 

R.«IU  well  know  r.haVFame'irhllV.'^sfam; 

To  one  at  least,  who  hath  not  children,  vaeue 

?«r^H'n''^f '^'^  ""'^•"^"  ^bout  the  gVlvf 
I  carsd  not  for  it :  a  single  misty  star,       ' 


"  Hav/i'''n!i,''"''^"'^'  '.•""•"«  "  i"  ^^a"» : 
Good!      *"°"  *™  ""'   "^*'*<^- 

Well    hide  it,  hide  it ;  I  shall  find  it  out ; 
And  being  found  take  heed  of  Vivien 
i  Vi^ui'V",''""'  "Ot  trusted,  doubtless  I 
Might  feel  some  sudden  turn  of  anger  bom 
Of  your  misfnith  ;  and  your  fine  epithet 
!  Is. accurate  too   for  this  full  love  of  mine 
Without  the  full  heart  back  may  merit  weU 
Your  term  of  overstrain'd.     So  used  as  I. 
My  daily  wonder  is,  I  love  at  all 
And  as  to  woman's  jealousy,  O  why  not  ? 
And  ^n/  ''"^•.""pt  a  jealous  one, 
was   his  fair  charm  invented  by  yourself? 

Y  m  it''"r  '^^'  •■'"  »»^out  this  world 
vou  cage  a  buxom  captive  here  and  there 

Vn^f  u-  't-  ^°'''  *'^"«  of  a  hollow  tower 
from  which  IS  no  escape  forevermore." 

Then^the  great  Master  merrily  answer'd 

I  ifeeld^k  *  '"''V"  '°^'"?  y°"'h  ^'a"  ""ne, 
I  needed  then  no  charm  to  keep  them  mine 

Tours''"'*  '°^''  '"•*  that^ullheTrtof 

Whereof  you  prattle,  may  now  assure  you 
mine ;  ^ 

^''  ''^?,"^';J"'n'd.     For  those  who  wrought 

Th!  Z'Jf ''  P^'*.''^  !rT  "'<=  '^=>nd  that  waved, 
The  feet  unmortised  from  their  ankle-bones 
I  V\  ho  paced  It,  ages  tack  :  but  will  you  hiar 
Ihe  legend  as  in  guerdon  for  your  rhyme? 

"  ^  Elst'"^^**  *  '''"^  '"  "^*  "'°^'  Eastern 
Less  old  thkn.I,  .yet  older,  for  my  blood 
Hath  earnest  in  it  of  far  springs  to  be 
A  tawny  pirate  anchor'd  in  his  r^n 
"  "'"'^Is^es^  ^^^  Piunder'd  twenty  nameless 
And  passing  one,  at  the  high  peep  of  dawn 
He  saw  two  cities  in  a  thousand  boat,  ^• 
All  fighting  for  a  womai   on  the  sea. 
And  pnshmg  his  black  craft  among  them  all. 
He  lightly  scattered  theirs  and  broufht  her  o^ 


I: 


I 


186 


vrviEN. 


r    I 


r«4« 


Witli  loss  of  half  his  people  arrow  slain  ; 
A  maid  so  smooth,  su  uhile,  so  wonderful, 
lliey  said  a  light  came  from  her  when  she 

moved  : 
And  since  the  pirate  would  not  yield  her  up, 
1  lie  King  impaled  liim  for  his  piracy  ; 
1  hen  made  her  Queen  ;  but  those  isle-nur- 

tur  d  eyes 
Waged  such  unwilling  tho'  successful  war 
Oil  all  the  youth,   they  sicken'd  ;    councils 

thinn  d, 
And  armies  waned,  for  magnet-like  she  drew 
i  lie  rustiest  iron  of  old  fighters'  hearts  ; 
And  beasts  tliemselves  would  worship;  cam- 
els knelt 
Unbidden,  and  the  brutes  of  mountain  back 
Ihat   carry   kings   in   castles,    bow'd    black 

knees 
Of  homage,  ringing  with  tlicir  serpent  hands, 
1  o  make  her  smile,  her  golden  ankle-bells 
What  wonder  being  jealous,  that  he  sent 
His  horns  of  proclamation  out  thro'  all 
riie  hundred  under-kingdoms  that  liesway'd 
lo  hnd  a  wizard  who  might  teach  the  Kine 
borne  cliarm,  which  being  wrought  upon  the 

Queen  ' 

Might  keep  her  all  his  own  :  to  such  a  one 
He  promised  more  than  ever  kinr;  has  qi-en 
A  league  of  mountain  full  ol  golden  mines. 
A  province  with  a  hundred  miles  of  coast, 
A  palace  and  a  princess,  all  for  him  : 
iiut  on  all  those  who  tried  and  fail'd,  the 

King 
1  renounced  a  dismal  sentence,  meaning  by  it 
Jo  keep  the  list  low  and  pretenders  back, 
Or  like  a  king,  not  to  be  trifled  with  — 
ihtir  heads  should   moulder  on    the  city 

gates. 
And  many  tried  and  fail'd,  because  the  charm 
Ot  nature  in  her  overbore  their  own  : 
And  many  a  wizard  brow  bleach'd  on  the 

walls  : 
And  many  weeks  a  troop  of  carrion  crows 
"ung  Jike  a  -loud  above  the  gateway  towers." 

,.  ^""-^  Vivien,  breaking  in  upon  him,  said  : 

1  sit  and  gather  honey  ;  yet,  methinks. 
Your  tongue  has  tript  a  little  :  ask  yourself 
J  'IS  '•■>oy  never  made  wi-.villing  war 
With  those  fine  eyes :  she  had  her  pleasure 
in  It, 

And  made  her  good  man  jealous  with  good 

cause.  '' 

And  lived  there  neither  dame  nor  damsel 

then 
Wroth  at  a  lover's  loss  ?  were  all  as  tame, 
I  mean,  as  noble,  as  their  Queen  was  fair.' 
r^ot  one  to  flirt  a  venom  at  her  eyes. 
Or  pinch  a  murderous  dust  into  her  drink. 
Or  make  her  paler  with  a  pnison'd  rose  ? 
Well,  those  were  not  our  days  ;  but  did  they 

tind 
A  wizard?  Tel]  me.  was  he  like  to  thee?" 


Speak  for  her,  glowing  on  him,  like  a  bride's 
On  her  new  lord,  her  own,  the  first  of  men. 

He  answer'd  laughing,  "  Nay,  not  like  to 
me. 
At  last  they  found  -  his  foraperr,  for  charms- 
A   itt.c  glassy-headed  hair.css  man, 
Who  lived  alone  in  a  great  wild  on  gra.ss  ; 
Kead  but  one  book,  and  ever  reading  grew 
.So  grated  down  and  filed  awav  with  thought 
..o  lean  his  eyes  were  monstrous ;  while  the 

skill 
Clung  but  to  crate  and  basket,  ribs  and  spine. 
And  since  he  kept  his  mind  on  one  sole  aim. 
Nor  ever  touch 'd  fierce  wine,  tier  lasted  flesh 
Nor  own  d  a  sensua-I  wish,  to  him  the  wall 
Ihat  sunders  ghosts  and  shadow-casting  men 
I.ecame  a  crystal,  and  he  saw  them  thro'  it, 
And  heard  their  voices  talk  behind  the  wall, 
A '  ,  r  ^''"'  '"^"'  e'ef'iental  secrets,  powers 
And  forces  ;  often  o'er  tho  sun's  bright  eve 
Drew  the  vast  eyelid  of  an  inky  cloud. 
And  la.sh  d  it  at  the  base  with  slanting  storm  • 
Or  m  the  noon  ot  mist  and  driving  rain. 
When  the  lake  whiten'd  and  the  pine-wood 

roar'd, 

And  the  cairn'd  mountain  was  a  shadow 

sunn'd  ' 

The  world  to  peace  again  :  here  was  the  man. 

And   so   by  force  they  dragg'd   him  to  the 

King. 
And  then  he  taught  the  King  to  charm  the 

Queen 
In  such  wise,  that  no  man  could  see  her 

more. 
Nor  saw  she  save  the  King,  who  wrought  the 

charm. 
Coming  and  going,  and  she  lay  as  dead. 
And  lost  all  use  of  life:  but  when  the  Kine 
Made  proficr  of  the  league  of  golden  mines, 
Ihe  province  with  a  hundred  miles  of  coast. 
1  he  palace  and  the  princess,  that  old  man 
VV  ent  back  to  his  old  wild,  and  lived  on  crass. 
And  vanish  d,  and  his  book  came  down  to 
me." 


She  ceased,  and  made  her  lithe  arm  round 
his  neck 
Tighten,  and  then  drew  back,  and  let  her 
eyes 


And  Vivien  answer'd,  smiling  saucily  : 
You  have  the  book  :  the  charm  is  written 
in  It : 
Good  :  take  my  counsel  :  let  me  know  it  at 

once  : 
I^°'',l<eep  it  like  a  puzzle  chest  in  chest. 
With  each  chest  lock'd  and  padlock'd  thirty- 
fold. 
And  whelm  all  this  beneath  as  vast  a  mound 
As  after  furious  battle  turfs  the  slain 
On  some  wild  down  above  the  windy  deep, 
I  yet  should  strike  upon  a  sudden  means 
To  dig,  i)ick,  open,  find  and  read  the  charm  : 
Ihen,  if  I  tried  it,  who  should  blame  me 
then?" 

And  smiling  as  a  Master  smiles  at  one 
1  hat  IS  not  of  his  school,  nor  any  school 
But  that  where  blind  and  naked  Ignorance 
IJeliyers  brawling  .jdgments,  unashamed, 
On  all  things  all  day  long,  he  answered  hev : 


;  on  hi'm,  like  a  bride's 
3wn,  the  first  of  men. 

iig,  "  Nay,  not  like  to 

iforapeir.  for  charms  — 
hair,(;.-;|,  man, 
;roai  wild  on  grass  ; 
id  ever  reading  grew 
dauay  with  thought, 
monstrous;  while  the 

basket,  ribs  and  spine, 
niiid  on  one  sole  aim, 
wine,  ncr  lasted  flesh, 
ish,  to  him  the  wall 
d  shadow-casting  men 
le  saw  them  thro'  it, 

talk  beliind  the  wall, 
ital  secrets,  powers 
the  sun's  bright  eye 

an  inky  cloud, 
;  wiih  slanting  storm; 
find  driving  rain, 
i  and  the  pine-wood 

tain  was  a  shadow, 

n:  here  was  the  man. 
dragg'd  him  to  the 

King  to  charm  the 

man   could  see  her 

Ing,  who  wrought  the 

she  lay  as  dead, 
but  when  the  King 
ue  of  golden  mines, 
idred  miles  of  coast, 
cess,  that  old  man 
i,  and  lived  on  grass, 
30ok  came  down  to 


smiling  saucily : 
le  charm  is  written 

:  let  me  know  it  at 

chest  in  chest, 

id  padlock'd  thirty- 

th  as  vast  a  mound 
fs  the  slain 
e  the  windy  deep, 
1  sudden  means 
lid  read  the  charm: 
should  blame  me 


r  smiles  at  one 
nor  any  school 
naked  Ipnoranca 
Its,  unashamed, 
he  answered  hey  i 


r-lT''  'Tl'  ""'^  ""^^^  '•"  ^''^'  "^  '°""d  his  neck 
Tighten    and  then  drew  back,  and  let  her  eyes 
Speak  for  her."  ' 


IP 


I) 


I'M 


VI VI EM. 


You  read  tl»e  book,  my  pretty  Vivien  I 
O  ay,  It  IS  but  twenty  pages  lo.ig. 
But  every  page  having  an  ample  marge, 
And  every  marge  enclosing  in  the  midst 
A  square  of  text  that  looks  a  little  blot. 
The  text  no  larger  than  the  limbs  of  fleas  • 
And  every  square  of  text  an  awful  charm, 
Writ  111  a  language  that  has  long  gone  by. 
So  lon^,  that  mountains  have  arisen  since 
With  cities  on  their  flanks— >-<;«  read  the 

book  ! 
And    every    margin     scribbled,    crost   and 

cramm'd 
With  comment,  densest  condensation,  hard 
lo  mind   and  eye;  but  the  long  sleepless 

nights 
Of  my  long  life  have  made  it  easy  to  me. 
And  none  can  read  the  text,  not  even  I ; 
And  none  can  read  the  comment  but  myself- 
And  in  the  comment  did  I  find  the  charm. 
U,  t he  results  are  simple  ;  a  mere  child 
iMisht  use  u  f    the  harm  of  any  one, 
And  never  o.u.J  undo  it :  ask  no  more  : 
tor  tho  you  r/nould  not  prove  it  upon  me, 
but  .;£c,;  ihai  oath  you  swore,  you  might, 

perchince, 
Assay  it  on  some  one  of  the  Table  Round, 
And  all  because  you  dream  they  babble  of 
you." 

«  ^^  Vivien,  frowning  in  true  anger,  said  : 

What  dare  the  full-fed  liars  say  of  me  ? 
They  ride  abroad  redressing  hiimin  wrongs  ! 
1  hey  Sit  with  knife  in  meat  and  wine  in  horn. 
IHey  bound  to  holy  vows  of  chastity  ' 
Were  I  not  woman,  I  could  tell  a  tale 
But  you  are  man,  you  well  can  understand 
ine   shame    that   cannot  be  explain'd  for 

shame. 
Not  one  of  all  the  drove  should  touch  me  • 

swine  1" 

Then    answer'd   Merlin   careless   of  her 
words, 
''  You  breathe  but  accusation  vast  and  vague, 
bpleen-boni,  I  think,  and  proofless.     If  you 

know. 
Set  up  the  charge  you  know,  to  stand  or  fall !" 


187 


.<  ^^  ^'V^"  answer'd,  frowning  wrathfuUy  : 

O  ay,  what  say  ye  to  Sir  Valence,  him 
Whose  kinsman  left  him  watcher  o'er  his 

wife 
And  two  fair  babes,  and  went  to  distant  lands; 

Nn,  ,?,"^  rf  f  °"*'  ^i'"^  °"  •^eturning  found 
Not  two  but  three  :  there  lay  the  Feckling, 

one  °' 

But  one  hour  old  !     What  said  the  happy 

sire  ?  ^^' 

A  seven  months'  babe  had  been  a  truer  gift, 
inose  twelve  sweet  moons  confused  his  fa- 

tliei  hood  i  " 

'^''^^^^nswer'd  Merlin  :  "  Nay,  I  know  the 

Sir  Valence  wedded  with  an  outJand  dame  : 
home  cause  had  kept  kirn  sunder'd  from  his 
wife : 


One  child  they  had :  it  lived  with  her:  ^he 

died  : 
His  kinsman  travelling  on  his  own  aff.iir 
Was  charged  by  Valence  to  bring  home  the 

child. 

He  brought,  not  found  it  therefore  :  take  the 
truth." 

,  "  O  ay."  said  Vivien,  "  overtrue  a  tale 
What  say  ye  then  to  sweet  Sir  Sagramore, 
lliat  ardent  man.'  'to  pluck  tho  (lower  in 

season ' ; 
So  sf  ys  the  song,  '  I  trow  it  is  no  treason.' 
U  Master,  shall  we  call  him  overquick 
1  o  crop  his  own  sweet  rose  before  tiie  hour  ?  " 

And   Merlin  answer'd  :    "  Overquick    are 
you 
To  catch  a  lothly  plume  fall'n  from  the  winjr 
Of  that  foul  bird  of  rapine  whose  whole  prey 
Is  man  s  good  name  :  he  never  wronged  liia 

bride. 
I  know  the  tale.     An  angry  gust  of  wind 
Putf  d  out  his  torch  among  the  mvri.id  loom'd 
And  many-corridor'd  complexities 
Ot  Arthur's  palace  :  then  he  found  a  door 
And  darkling  Jelt  the  sculptured  oniameut 
That  wreathen  round  it  made  it  seem  his 

own  ; 
And  wearied  out  made  for  the  couch  and 

slept, 
A  stainless  man  beside  a  stainless  m  ild  • 
And  either  slept,  nor  knew  of  other  there  ; 
1  ill  the  high  dawn  picrcinj^  tho  royal  rose 
In  Artluir's   casement   glimmer'd  cliaste 

down, 
Blushing  upon  them  blushing,  and  at  once 
He  rose  without  a  word  and  part.^d  from  her  : 
iiut  when  the  thing  was  blazed  about  the 
court, 

The  brute  world  howling  forced  them  into 

bonds. 
And  as  it  ^chanced  they  are  happy,  being 

"O  ay,"  said  Vivien,  "that  were  likely 
too.  ' 

What  say  ye  then  to  fair  Sir  Percivale 
And  of  the  horrid  foulness  that  he  wroii<dit 
1  he  saintly  youth,  the  spotless  lamb  of  Christ, 
Or  some  black  wether  of  St.  Satan's  fold 
What,  in  the  precincts  of  the  chapel  yard 
Among  the  knightlv  brasses  of  the  graves' 
And  by  the  cold  Hie  Jacets  of  the  dead  1 '' 

And    Merlin    answer'd,    careless    of   her 
charge  : 
"A  sober  man  is  Percivale  and  pure  ; 
But  once  in  life  was  fluster'd  with  new  wine  • 
Ihen  paced  for  coolness  in  the  chapel-yard 

■■  ••- "'  ..-rttrtfi  3  sticpiicrnoSoCa  c.uigiU 

And  meant  to  stamp  him  with  her  master'* 

mark  ; 
And  that  he  sinn'd,  is  not  believable  • 
For,  look  upon  his  face  I  —  but  if  he  sinn'd, 
Ihe  sin  that  practice  burns  into  the  blood, 
And  not  the  one  dark  hour  which  brines  re« 
morse. 


rliastely 


!l 


tdS 


.^  , 

■^  ' 

) 

^  ^  i  M 

' 

'    h 

t 

i) 

f> 

p-ivfEN: 


Wil]  brand  us,  after,  of  whose  fold  we  be  • 
Or  else  were  he,  the  holy  king,  whose  hymns 
Are  chanted  \n  the  minster,  worse  than  all 
But  IS  your  spleen  froth'd  out,  or  have  ye 
more  ? "  .  »  v  ;ic 

And  Vivien  answer'd  frowning  yet  in  wrath: 

O  ay  ;  what  sav  ye  to  Sir  Lancelot,  friend  ? 

Iraitor  or  true?    that  commerce  with  the 

Queen, 
I  ask  you,  is  it  clamor'd  by  the  child. 
Or  whisper'd  in  the  corner?  do  you  know  it  ? " 


\\rC        ■•■'""^  imvc  11  not, 

What  did  the  wanton  say? 
leh    :  we  scarce  can  sink  as 


answer'd  sadly  :    "  Yea,  I 


To  which  he 
know  it. 

Sir  Lancelot  went  ambassador,  at  first, 
1  o  fetch  her,  and  she  took  him  for  the  King  : 
bo  fixt  her  fancy  on  him  :  let  him  be, 
«ut  have  you  no  one  word  of  loyal  praise 
For  Arthur,  blameless   King  and  stainless 
man  r 


a  low  and  chuckling 


She  answer'd  with 
laugh  ; 

"  "'""winks  >  *  "^^  ^'  *"'  ^^^°  *'"°*^  ^^^ 
Sees  what  his  fair  bride  is  and  does,  and 
winks?  ' 

^y  ^^selV""*  ^°°^  '''"^  ""^^"^  '°  blind  him- 
And  blinds  himself  and  all  the  Table  Round 
Could  r^n  °"'"r'  "'?'  "^^y  ^°^k.  Myself 
Th^  J-  '""  ^'^?''^  '*  "°'  <"°'  womanhood 
IJie  pretty,  popular  name  such  manhood 
csrnSy 

Could  call  him  the  main  cause  of  all  their 
crime ; 

*fod  "'  °°*  ""'^'^  '""S'  coward,  and 


fool.' 

'^''"^Merlin  to  his  own  heart,  loathing, 

'cPJX  ^"'^  **"''5'" '  ^  .""y  "«ge  and  king  I 
O  selfless  man  and  stainless  gentleman, 

^aij!    '*^^"'^'  °^"  eye-witness 

Have  all  men  true  and  leal,  all  women  pure  : 
How,  m  the  mouths  of  base  interpreters, 
from  over-fuieness  not  intelligible 
10  things  with  every  sense  as  false  and  foul 
As  the  poached  filth  that  floods  the  middle 

street. 

Is  thy  white  blamelessnessaccountedblamel" 

But  Vivien  deeming  Merlin  overborne 
cy  instance,    recommenced,    and    let    her 
tongue 

I'ollutmg,  and  imputing  her  whole  self. 

Defaming  and  defacing,  till  she  left 

Wot  even  Lancelot  brave,  nor  Galahad  clean. 

H?SI,"°m\''*'*  '^^"*  ""^e""  *''an  sl'e  will'd. 
He  dragg  d  his  eyebrow  bushes  down,  and 

made 
A  snowy  penthouse  for  his  hollow  eyes, 

"^Cm?   '"   '''"'^^'''  "Tell  V-  the 


So,  if  she  had  it,  would 
To  snare  the  n^vf   ■,nA 
So  will  she  rail. 
'Not  mount  as  high 

low  : 
For  men  at  most  diflfer  as  Heaven  and  earth 
But  wo^^en,  worst  and  best,  as  Heaven  and 

I  know  the  Table  Round,  my  friends  of  old  ; 

cha^te^       "''"^  generous,   and  some 

I  think  she  cloaks  the  wounds  of  loss  vTnh 
lies  ; 

I  do  believe  she  tempted  them  and  fail'd. 
She  IS  so  bitter  :  for  fine  plots  may  fail,  ' 
llio  harlots  paint  their  talk  as  well  as  face 

Tw  fl  n°„n  Y.  '^^  ^'"'  '^''^  '-"-^  "«*  'heirs 
1  will  not  let  her  know  :  nine  tithes  of  times 

A^^^l'*""^"'^  ^""^  backbiters  are  the  same 
And  they,  sweet  soul,   that  most  impute  a 

a  crime 
Are  pronest  to  it,  and  impute  themselves, 
Wanting  the  mental  rage  :  or  low  desire 
X^lot  to  feel  lowest  makes  them  level  all  • 
vea,  they  would  pare  the  mountain  to  the 

plain. 
To  leave  an  equal  baseness;  and  in  this 
Are  harlots  like  the  crowd,  that  if  they  find 
home  stain  or  blemish  in  a  name  of  note. 
Not  grieving  that  their  greatest  are  so  small. 
Inflate  themselves  with    some    insane  de- 

hght. 
And  judge  all  nature  from  her  feet  of  clay. 
Without  the  will  to  lift  their  eyes,  and  see 
Her  godlike  head  crown'd  with  spiritual  fire 
And  touching  other  worlds.    I  am  weary  of 


He  spoke  in  words  part  heard  in  whispers 
part,  '  '^ 

Half  suffocated  in  the  hoary  fell 
And  many-winter'd  fleece  of  throat  and  chin 
But  Vivieti,  gatheritig  somewhat  of  his  mood, 
And  hearing   "harlot"  mutter'd    twice  or 

thrice, 
Leyjt  from  her  session  on  his  lap,  and  stood 
btitt  as  a  viper  frozen  :  loathsome  sight. 
How  from  the  rosy  lips  of  life  and  love! 
l^lash  d  the  bare-grinning  skeleton  of  death  i 
White  was  her  cheek ;  sharp  breaths  of  an- 
ger puff 'd 
Her  fairy  nostril  out ;  her  hand  half-clench'd 
Went  faltenng    sideways  downward  to  her 

belt, 
And  feeling  ;  had  she  found  a  dagger  there 
(For  m  a  wink  the  false  love  turns  to  hate) 
She  would  have  stabb'd  him ;  but  she  found 

It  not : 
His  eye  was  calm,  and  suddenly  she  took 
lo  bitter  weeping  like  a  beaten  child, 
A  long,  long  weeping,  not  consolable. 
iiicu  i!cr  false  voice  made  way  broken  with 
sobs. 


O  crueller  than  was  evtir  told  in  tale. 
Or  sung  in  song  I  O  vainlv  lavish'd  love  I 
O  cruel,  theie  was  nothing  wild  or  strange. 
Or  seeming  shameful,  for  what  shame  in  love, 


The 


»v^ 


lid  she  rail  on  mi 
id  if  she  have  it  not, 
at  did  the  wanton  say? 
;  we  scarce  can  sink  as 

ir  as  Heaven  and  earth, 
a  best,  as  Heaven  and 

und,  my  friends  of  old  ; 
y  generous,   and  some 

e  wounds  of  loss  viiih 

ted  them  and  fail'd, 
ine  plots  may  fail, 
ir  talk  as  well  as  face 
irt  that  are  not  theirs 
' :  nine  tithes  of  times 
ckbiters  are  the  same. 
that  most  impute  a 

impute  themselves, 
ige  ;  or  low  desire 
:es  them  level  all  : 
the  mountain  to  the 

?ness ;  and  in  this 
)wd,  that  if  they  find 
in  a  name  of  note, 
greatest  are  so  small, 
th   some    insane  de- 
em her  feet  of  clay, 
their  eyes,  and  see 
n'd  with  spiritual  fire, 
rids.    I  am  weary  of 


trt  heard,  in  whispers 

loary  fell 

ce  of  throat  and  chin. 

mewhat  of  his  mood, 

mutter'd    twice  or 

an  his  lap,  and  stood 
oathsome  sight, 
of  life  and  love, 
E  skeleton  of  death  I 
harp  breaths  of  an- 

T  hand  half-clench'd 
s  downward  to  her 

ind  a  dagger  there 
ave  turns  to  hate) 
lim ;  but  she  found 

iddenly  she  took 
beaten  child, 
t  consolable. 
ie  way  broken  with 


ver  told  in  tale, 
y  lavish 'd  love  I 
J  wild  or  strange, 
what  shame  in  love, 


VIVIEN. 


So  love  be  true,  and  not  as  yours  is— nothing 
Poor  Vivien  had  not  done  to  win  his  trust 
Whocall'd  her  what  he  call'd  her  — all  her 

crime, 
All— all— the  wish  ♦©  prove  him  wholly  hers." 


189 


She  mused 
hands 


to 


a  little,   and  then  clapt  her 

Together  with  a  wailing  shriek,  and  said  : 
"btabb'd  through   the   heart's  affections 

the  heart  ! 
Seeth'd  like  the  kid  in   its  own  mother's 

milk  ! 
Kill'J  with  aword  worse  than  a  life  of  blows  ! 
I  lliought  thit  he  was  gentle,  being  great : 

0  God,  that  I  had  loved  a  smaller  man  ! 

1  should  have  found  in  him  a  greater  heart. 
O,  I,  that  flattering  my  true  passion,  saw 
The  knishts,  the  court,  the  king,  dark  in 

your  light, 
Who  loved  to  make  men  darker  than  they  are. 
Because  of  that  high  pleasure  which  I  had 
lo  seat  you  sole  upon  my  pedestal 
Of  worship  —  I  am  answer'd,  and  henceforth 
I  he  coui-se  of  life  that  seem'd  so  flowery  to 

me 
With  you  for  guide  and  master,  only  you, 
Becomes  the  sea-cliff  pathway  broken  short, 
And  ending  in  a  ruin  —  nothing  left, 
But  mto  some  low  cave  to  crawl,  and  there. 


There  must  be  now  no  passages  of  love 
Betwixt  us  twain  henceforward  evermore 
Suice,  if  J  be  what  I  am  grossly  c^H'd, 
What  should  be  granted  which  your  own 

gross  heart 
Would  reckon  worth  the  taking?     I  will  go 
In  truth,  but  one  thing  now  — better  have 

died 
Thrice  than  have  ask'd  it  once  —  could  make 

me  stay  — 
That  proof  of  trust  — so  often  asked  in  vain  I 
How  justly,  after  that  vile  term  of  yours, 
I  find  with  grief!     I  might  believe  vou  then. 
Who  knows  ?  once  more.    O,  what 'was  once 

to  me 
Mere  matter  of  the  fancy,  now  has  grown 
1  he  vast  necessity  of  heart  and  life. 
Farewell :  think  kindlv  of  me,  for  I  fear 
My  fate  or  fault,  omitting  gayer  youth 
For  one  so  old,  must  be  to  love  vou  still. 
But  ere  1  leave  you  let  me  swear  once  more 
That  if  I  schemed  against  your  peace  in  this 
May  yon  just  heaven,  that  darkens  o'er  me' 

send 
One  flash,  that,  missing  all  things  else,  mav 
make  ' 

My  scheming  brain  a  cinder,  if  I  lie." 


If  the  wolf  spare  me,  weep  my  fife  away, 
Kill  d  with  inutterable  unkindliness." 

She  paused,  she  turn'daway,  she  hung  her 
head, 
The  snake  of  gold  slid  from  her  hair,  the 

braid 
Slipt  and  uncoil'd  itself,  she  wept  afresh, 
And  the  dark  wood  grew  darker  toward  the 

storm 
In  silence,  while  his  anger  slowlv  died 
Within  him,  till  he  let  his  wisdoni  go 
For  ease  of  heart,  and  hai   believed  her  true  : 
Call  d  her  to  shelter  in  the  hollow  oak, 
'Come  from  the  storm,"   and   havi..g  no 
_         reply, 

Uazed  at  the  hea"ing  shoulder,  and  the  face 
Hand-hidden,  as  for  utmost  grief  or  shame  ■ 
Then  thrice  essay'd,  by  tenderest-touchin? 

terms 
"I'o  sleek  her  ruffled  peace  of  mind,  in  vain 
At  last  she  let  herself  be  conquer'd  by  him 
And  as  the  cageling  newly  flown  returns, 
1  lie  seeming-injured  simple-hearted  thing 
Came  to  her  old  perch   back,  and  settled 

there. 
There  while  she  sat,  half-falling  from  his 

knees, 
Half-nestled  at  his  heart,  and  since  he  saw 
ine  slow  tear  creep  from  her  closed  eyelid 

yst, 

About  her,  more  in  kindness  than  in  love, 
Ine  gentle  wizard  cast  a  shielding  arm. 
But  she  dislink'd  herself  at  once  and  rose, 
Wer  arms  upon  her  breast  across,  and  stood 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman  deeply  wrong'd, 
Upright  and  flush'd  before  him :  then  she 
said; 


Scarce  had  she  ceased,  when  out  of  heaven 

a  bolt 
(For  now  the  storm  was  close  above  them) 

struck. 
Furrowing  a  giant  oak,  and  javelining 
With  darted  spikes  and  splinters  of  the  wood 
The  dark  earth  round.     He  raised  his  eyes 

and  saw 
The  tree  that  shone  white-listed  thro'  the 

gloom. 
But  Vivien,  fearing  heaven  had  heard  her 

oath. 
And  dazzled  by  the  livid-flickering  fork. 
And  deafen'd  with  the  stammering  cracks 

and  claps 

"  l\^'»I°"r  ^^'^'  ''y'"^  ^^'^^  ^''f'  crying  out, 
(J  Merlin,  tho'  you  do  not  love  me,  save. 
Yet  save  me  !  "  clung  to  him  and  hugg'd 

him  close: 
And  call'd  him  dear  protector  in  her  fright. 
Nor  yet  forgot  her  practice  in  her  fright, 
But  wrought  upon  his  mood  and  hugg'd  him 

close. 
The  pale  blood  of  the  wizard  at  her  touch 
1  ook  gayer  colors,  like  an  opal  warm'd 
hhe  blamed  herself  for  telling  hearsay  tales  • 
She  shook  from  fear,  and  for  her  fault  she 

■wept 
Of  petulancy  ;  she  call'd  him  lord  and  liege. 
Her  seer,  her  bard,  her  silver  star  of  eve, 
Her  God,  her  Merlin,  the  one  passionate 

love 
or  her  whole  life ;  and  ever  overhead 
Bellow'd  the  tempest,  and  the  rotten  branch 
bnapt  in  the  rushing  of  the  river-rain 
Above  them ;  and  in  change  of  glare  and 

gloom 
Her  eyes  and  neck  glittering  went  and  came ; 
1  111  now  the  storm,  its  burst  of  passion  spent, 
Alo^ning  and  calling  out  of  other  l^nds, 


j   . 


I'l  ' 


(    t 


ELAINE. 


190 

Had  left  the  ravaged  woodland  yet  once  more 
lo  peace  ;  and  what  should  not  have  been 

had  been, 
For  Merlin,  overtalk'd  and  overworn, 

^s'le  t       '"''^   ''"  ^"  *''^  '^''^'■'"'  ^'''^ 

Then,  in  one  moment,  she  put  forth  the 
charm 
Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands 
And  m  the  hollow  oak  he  lay  as  dead 
And  lost  to  life  and  use  and  name  and  fame. 

Then  crying  "  I  have  made  his  glory  mine," 
And  ohneking  out   "O  fool!"  the   harlot 

leapt 
Adown  the  forest,  and  the  thicket  closed 
Behmd  her,  and  the  forest  echo'd  "  fool  " 


ELAINE. 

Elaine  the  fair,  Elaine  the  lovable, 
Elaine,  the  lilv  maid  of  Astolat, 
High  in  her  chamber  up  a  tower  to  the  east 
Ouarded  the  sacred  shield  of  Lancelot ; 
Which  first  she    placed    where    morning's 

earliest  ray  *" 

Might  strike  it,   and  awake  her  with  the 

gleam  ; 
Then  fearing  rust  or  soilure,  fashion'd  for  it 
A  case  of  silk,  and  braided  thereuijon 
All  the  devices  blazon'd  on  the  shield 
In  their  own  tinct,  and  added,  of  her  wit 
A  border  fantasy  of  branch  and  flower, 
And  yellow-throated  nestling  in  the  nest 
Nor  rested  thus  content,  bul  day  by  day" 
Leaving    her    household    and   good  father 

climb'd 
That  eastern  tower,  and  entering  barr'd  her 
door, 
^  Stript  off  the  case,  and  rend  the  naked  shield. 
Now  puess'd  a  hidden  meaninii  in  his  arms, 
Now  made  a  pretty  history  to  herself 
Of  every  dint  a  sword  had  beaten  in  it. 
And  every  scratch  a  lance  had  made  upon  it, 
Conjecturing  when  and  where :  this  cut  is 

fresh  ; 
That  ten  years  back  ;  this  dealt  him  at  Caer- 

lyle ; 
That  at  Caerleon  ;  this  at  Camelot : 
And    ah,  God's  mercy,  what  a  stroke  was 

there  ! 
And  here  a  thrust  that  might  have  kill'd,  but 

God 
Broke  the  strong  lance,  and  roll'd  his  enemy 

down. 
And  saved  liim  :  so  she  lived  in  fantasy. 

How  came  the  lily  maid   by  that  good 

shield 
Of  Lancelot,   she  that  knew  not  ev'n  his 

name? 
He  left  it  with  her,  when  he  rode  to  tilt 
*  or  the  great  di;imond  in  the  diamond  jousts, 
Which   Arthur  had  ordain'd,  and  by  that 

name 
Had  named  them,  since  3  diamond  was  the 

prue, 


For  Arthur  when  none  knew  from  whence 
he  came. 

Long  ere  the  people  cho^e   him  for   their 

king, 
Roving  the  trackless  realms  of  Lyonnesse 

tarn    ^  ^'^"'  ^"^  ''""'''^''  '*"*^  *'^^'='' 
I  -A  honor  lived  about  the  tarn,  and  clave 

.•nv''l,',lT"  ?'"l'°  =»"  '''^'  "'"""tain  side: 
1^01  here  wo  brothers,  one  a  king,  had  met 
And  fought  together:  but  their  names  were 

And  each  had  .slain  his  broihcr  at  a  blow 

abhorr'd?    ''"   ""'   -«de  Uie  g,en 
And  there  they'lay  till  all  their  bones  were 

bleached. 
And  lichen'd  into  color  with  the  crags  : 
And  he  that  once  v.as  kii.^  hnd  on  a  crown 
Ul  diamonds,  one  in  ficnt,  aiul  four  aside. 
And  Arthur  came,  and  laboring  up  the  pass 
AH  in  a  misty  moonshine,  unawares 
Had  trodden  that  crov.n'd  skeleton,  and  the 
skull 

Brake  from  the  nape,  and  from  the  skull  the 

crown 
Roll'd  into  light,  and  turning  on  its  rims 
lied  like  a  gliUoiu^g  rivulet  to  the  tarn  : 
And  down  the  shingly  scaur  he  ph.ni:ed,  and 

caught. 

And  set  it  on  his  head,  and  in  his  heart 

Heard  murmurs,  "  Lo,  thou  likewise  shalt  be 
king." 

Thereafter,  when  a  king,  he  had  the  gems 
Pluck'd  from  the  crown,  and  show'd  themVo 

Ins  knights. 
Saying  "These  jewels,  whereupon  I  chanced 
Divinely  are  ihekmrdom's,  not  thckinc's- 
!•  or  public  use  :  henceforward  let  there'be 
Once  every  year,  a  joust  for  one  of  these  •  ' 
I' or  so  by  nme  years'  proof  we  needs  must 
learn 

Which  is  our  mightiest,  and  ourselves  shall 

grow 
In  use  of  arms  and  manhood,  till  we  drive 
llie  Heathen,  who,  some  sav,  shall  rule  the 

land 
Hereafter,    which   God   hinder."     Thus  he 

spoke : 
And  eight  years  past,  eight  jousts  had  been, 

and  still  ' 

Had  Lancelot  won  the  diamond  of  the  vear 
With  purpose  to  present  them  to  the  Qiieen! 
When  all  were  won  :  but  meaning  r.i;  at  once 
1  o  snare  her  royal  fancy  with  a  boon 
Worth  half  her  realm,  had  never  spoken  word. 

Now  for  the  centra!  diamond  and  the  last 
And  largest,  Arthur,  holding  then  hi ,  court 
H.irclon  the  river  ni;;h  the  place  which  now 

Is  t  hl<!  \snr!(i  ■?  hli'-p-f    lot, '->■,      ^  • 

At  Came.ot,  and  when  the  tir.iu  drev/  nieh 
t^pake  (for  she  had  been  sick)  lo  Guinevere, 
Are   you  so  sick,  my  Queen,  vou   cannot 

move 
To  these  fair  jousts?"     "Yea,  lord,"  she 

said,  "you  know  it," 


tione  knew  from  whence 

t;  chose    him  for   their 

realms  of  Lyonnesse, 
;ray  boulder  and  black 

the  tarn,  and  clave 
all  tlio  niouiitaiii  side: 
s,  one  a  king,  had  met 
:  but  their  names  were 

Is  broJiiM-  at  a  blow, 
11  and   made  the  glen 

II  all  their  bones  were 

3r  with  the  crags  : 
:  kir,;^  iiad  on  a  crown 
lout,  iiiid  four  aside. 
J  laborii.g  up  the  pass 
me,  unawares 
ivn'd  skeleton,  and  the 

and  from  the  skull  the 

turning  on  itb  rims 
iviilet  to  tlie  tarn  : 
scaur  lie  plunged,  and 

,  and  in  his  heart 

,  thou  likewise  shalt  be 


:ing,  he  had  the  gems 
1,  and  show'd  them  to 

whereupon  I  chanced 
om's,  not  the  king's  — 
orward  let  therc'be, 
it  for  one  of  these  : 
proof  we  needs  must 

,  and  ourselves  shall 

ihood,  till  we  drive 
ne  sp.y,  shall  rule  the 

hinder."    Thus  he 

ght  jousts  had  been, 

diamond  of  the  vear, 
[  them  to  the  Qiieen, 
It  meanini;  r.i;  at  once 
t  with  a  boon 
d  never  spoken  word. 

iamond  and  the  last 
Iding  then  hi ,  court 
he  place  which  now 
t  proc'aitii  a  jotist 
le  tiiiie  drew  nigh 
sick)  lo  Guinevere, 
Queen,  you  cannot 

"Yea,  lord,"  she 


Then  will  vou  miss,"  h 


ELAIME. 


great  deeds 


i,"  he  answer'd,    "the 


Of  Lancelot,  and  his  prowess  in  the  lists, 
A  sight  you  love  to  look  on."  And  the  Queen 
Lifted  her  eyes,  and  they  dwelt  languidly 
On    Lancelot,   where  he   stood  beside   the 

King. 
He  thinking  that  he  read  her  meaning  th-re 

May  with  me,  I  am  sick  ;  my  l„ve  is  more' 
Ihan  many  diamonds,"  yielded,  and  a  heart 
Love-loyal  to  the  least  wish  of  tiie  Queen  ' 
(However  much  he  yearn 'd  to  make  complete 
1  he  tale  of  diamonds  for  his  destined  boon) 
,VLS*"J.V'™  '°  "peak  against  the  truth,  and  say 

bir  King,  mine  ancient   wound  is  hardly 

And  lets  me  fro.n  the  saddle  "  ;  and  the  King 
Glanced  first  at  him,  then  her,  and  went  hit 

way. 
No  sooner  gone  than  suddenly  she  began  : 

"  To  blame,  my  lord  Sir  Lancelot,  much  to 
blame. 

Why  go  you  not  to  these  fair  jousts?  the 

knights 
Are  half  of  them  our  enemies,  and  the  crowd 
Will  murmur,   lo  the  shameiess  ones,  who 

take 

Their  pastime  now  the  trustful  king  is  gone  '  " 

Then  Lancelot,  vext  at  having  lied  in  vain  : 

Are  yoi.  so  wise  ?  you  were  not  once  so  wise, 

'     firs"'  summer,  when  you  loved  me 

Then  of  the  crowd  yon  took  no  more  account 
II  an  of  the  myriad  cricket  of  the  mead, 
Wlien  Its  own  voice  clings  to  each  blade  of 

grass, 
And  every  voice  is  nothing.     As  to  knights, 
Ihem  surely  can  I  silence  with  all  ea-e 
liut  now  my  loyal  worship  is  allo'.v'd 
Ot  a!  men  :  many  a  bard,  without  offoiice, 
Has  link  d  our  names  together  in  his  lay, 
Lancelot   the  flower  of  bra verv,  Guinevere, 

Hnvi^nfi"  i'""'^  ;  •'''"''  °"'"  k»i.^''>tsat  feast 
Have  pledged  us  in  this  union,  while  tlie  Kin- 
Would  listen  smiling.     How  then  ?  is  there 


And 


191 


words ; 


therefore   heai 
jousis : 

The    tiny-trumpeting  gnat  can    break    our 
dream 

Mav  hn)'^f  ?'  ■y''"'^  "^"  ""'"'"  voices  here 

stin  "  ^"  ^"^^  ^"'"  "'^"''  ^"'  "'«y 


Lancelot,    the    chief  of 
my    pretext 


Then    answer'd 
knights, 
"And    with    what  face,  after 

made. 
Shall  I  appe.ir,  0  Queen,  at  Camelot,  I 
liefore  a  king  who  honors  his  own  word, 
Asifit  were  his  God'b?  " 

.<  A  „       I    ,  •, ,     .  ,  "  Yea,"  said  the  Queen. 

A  moral  child  without  the  craft  to  rule,       ' 
I^..-^e  had  he  not  lost  ,ne  :  but  listen  to  ^e, 

t  1  must  hnd  you  wit :  wo  hear  it  said 

"ouc!i^°  ''°'''"  ''^'"''^  ^■°"''  ^P^"  ^'  » 

But  knowing  you  are  Lancelot  ;  your  great 
name,  '        6'>=''i 

This   conquers  :    hide  it  therefore  ;    eo  un- 
known ;  ° 
Win  !  by  this  kiss  you  will :  and  our  true 

f  "',!';■''"  'f  °^  y?"""  Pi-etext,  O  my  knight. 
As  al   lor  glory  ;  for  to  speak  him  true, 
\ou  know  right  well,  ho>v  meek  so  e'er  he 

seem. 
No  keener  hunter  after  glory  breathes 
He  loves  It  in  his   knights  more  than  him- 

sell : 

They  prove  to  him  his  work  :  win  and  re- 
turn." 


more : 

Has  Arthur  spoken  aught  ?  or  would  yourself. 
Now  «-eary  of  my  service  and  devoir; 
Henceforth  be  truer  to  your  faultless  lord  ? " 

She  broke  into  a  little  scornful  laut-h 
Arthur,  my  lord,  Arthur,  the  faultless  King, 
I!  ,f   P/''''°"«'e  perfection,  my  good  lord- 
liiit  who  can  gaze  upon  the  Sun  in  heaven  > 
He  never  spake  word  of  reproach  to  me. 
He  never  had  a  glimpse  ofmine  untruth. 
He  cares  not  for  me  :  only  here  to-day 
1  here  gleam  d  a  vague  suspicion  in  his  eyes  : 
borne    meddling    rogue  has  tamper'd  with 
_^        Inm  —  else  ' 

■  Kapt  In  this  fancy  of  his  Tabfc  Round 


tome 


t,' 


A, ', '•-}  "'  '"^  iuuE  Kouncl, 

And  swear.ng  men  to  vows  impossible, 
I  o  ma.<e  them  like  himself:  but,  friend 
i^o  IS  all  fault  who  hath  no  fault  at  all 
tw  \yho  loves  me  must  have  a  touch  o  .oarth  • 
V  :  '°w  sun  makes  the  color  :  I  .r.i  vours 
i>  ot  Artaur  s,  as  you  know,  save  by  th#  botid, 


,,Jhfn  got  Sir  Lancelot  suddenly  to  horse 

lie  let  the  barren- 'oeaten  thorough'hre 
^-liose  the  green  path  that  show'd  the 'rarer 
loot) 

And  there  among  the  solitary  downs, 
.';.'.:'  "f'en  lost  in  fancy,  lost  his  way  ■ 

ill  as  he  traced  a  faintlv-slndow'd  track 
Ibat    al     m    loops  and    links  among  the 

dales  '^ 

Ran  to  the  Castle  of  Astolat,  he  saw 
Fired  from  the  west,  far  on  a  hill,  the  t,v.v,-v 
1  Hither  he  made   and   wound  the   irueuav 
horn,  '      ■" 

Then  came   an  old,  dumb,  myriad-wrin!:ied 

man. 
Who  let  him  into  lodging  and  disarm'd. 
And    Lance.ot    marvell'd  at   the    wordless  ' 

man  ; 
And  issuing  found  the  Lord  of  Astolat 
With  two  strong  sons.   Sir  Torre  and  Sir 

Lavaine, 
Moving  to  meet  him  in  the  castle  court : 
r^nd  close  behind  tiiein  siept  the  lilv  maid 
tiaine,  his  daughter  :  mother  of  the  iionse 
ihere  was  not :  some  light  jest  among  them 

rose 
With    laughter   dying  down  as    the  great 

knight  ^ 

Approach'd  them  :  then  the  Lord  pf  Asto- 
lat, 


«9" 


ELAINE. 


I  i 


(•   I 


Livest  between  the  lips  ?  for  by  thy  state 
After  the  king,  who  eat  in  Arthur's  halls. 


Then    answer'd    Lancelot,    the   chief  of 
knights, 

"  ^"°knowll'   ^'  ^"'^  "'^  Arthur's  hall,  and 
^'""  ill^ielT"^*  mischance  have  brought,  my 
But  since  I  go  to  joust  as  one  iTr.known 
At  Camelot  for  the  diamond,  ask  me  not, 
Hereafter    you  shall    know  me -and    the 

shield  — 
I  pray  you  lend  me  one,  if  such  you  have 
Blank,   or   at  least  with  some  device  not 

mme."  ^ 

^''*To?re'"^*  Lord  of  Astolat,  "Here  is 
Hurt  in  his  first  tilt  was  my  son,  Sir  Torre. 

enou£      "'°''       '    ''''^''*    '^  "»nk 
His  you  can  have."    Then  added  plain  Sir 

1  orrC) 
"Yea  sitice  I  cannot  use  it,  you  may  have 

"*•■«  ChSl'^  "'^  father,  saying,  "Fie,  Sir 
Is  that  an  answer  for  a  noble  knight  .> 
Allow  him  :  but  Lavaine  my  younger  here 
He  .s  so  full  of  lustihood,  he  will  rfde 
Joust  ifbr  It,  and  win,   and  bring  it  in  an 

hour 
And  set  it  in  this  damsel's  golden  hair. 
lo  make  her  thrice  as  wilful  as  before." 


f)Vrih!^  moment.  "  with  your  fellowship 
er  these  waste  downs  whereon  I  lost  my- 

Then  weri  I  glad  of  you  as  guide  and  friend  • 
Tear    '       '""   ""'    '^'^""'"d  -  a"   I 
It  is  a  fair  large  diamond,  -  if  you  mav 
And  y.eld  It  to  this  maiden,  if  yoi"«^n.'^! 

^VouT  '''""°"'''"  ^'^ded  Pl'iJn   Sir 
"^"'mSid/°'   ^"""'  ""*•  "°'  f°' simple 

''"'""  grmind:''"   ^"^^   ""''  ''''    "P°"    "'^ 

FlMihM'"r'',''V'''''  ^'"■  "="""=  s"  «ost  about 
wif     d  slightly  at  the  slight  disparacement 
Before^the  stranger  knight,  who,  losing  at 

"  If  wr/V7?'i!'°l^^'f 'y'  "'"^  '""f''d  : 
A,!^      1     'A  '^"'  ^^  ^"'  ^°'  "-hat  is  fair, 
And  only  Queens  are  to  be  counted  so 

tliis  maid  ^"''^"''"'  """'  «''°  deem 
Might  wear  as  fair  a  jewel  as  is  on  earth 
Not  violating  the  bond  of  like  to  like  " 

He    spoke   and   ceased :   the   lily   maid 
Jb,laine,  '    """" 

TZh  "'*'  ""sllov.  voice  before  she  look'd. 
Lifted  iier  eyes,  and  read  her  lineaments 


"  ^not'^'''*''  "*^'  ^°°^  '^"'"'  ^"^^"^  •"* 
Before  this  noble  knight,"  said  young  La- 
vaine,  t.  ^a 

"  ^""^  To°rre'°*^"     ^"'^^^    ^    ''"'    P'^^'^    °" 
He  seem'd  so  sullen,  vext  he  could  not  go  • 

dre"amt"°'''' '  '"'''   ''"'^'"'  "'^  ™^*^^° 

TnHM?.?l°"'  P,"'  *^'•^  diamond  in  her  hand. 
And  that  it  was  too  slippery  to  be  held 
And  siipt  and  fell  into  some  pool  or  stream 
1  he  cast  e-well,  belike  :  and  then  I  said     ' 
f  R^fZ-TM     "^"^  """^  V-^  ''°"S'"  --"Id  won  it 
Thll      ""'^^  ^l^*  antTjoke  among  ourselves) 
I  hen   must  she  keep  it  safelier.     All  was 

jest. 
But  father  give  me  leave,  an  if  he  will, 
lo  ride  to  Camelot  with  this  noble  kmVht : 
V  'n  shall  I  i,oi,  but  do  mv  best  to  win': 
voung  as  I  am,  yet  would  I  do  my  best  " 


"So  you  will  grace  me,' 


answer'd  Lance- 


,,,,      -  •-—  -J",  «•■"  icau  iitr  lineaments. 
I  he  great  and  guilty  love  he  bare  the  Queen 
111  battle  Nvith  the  love  he  bare  his  lor3,        ' 
Had  marr'd  his  face,  and  mark'd  it  ere  his 

time. 
Another  sinning  on  such  heights  with  one, 
Tlhe  flower  of  a  1  the  west  and  all  the  world, 
Had  been  the  sleeker  for  it :  but  in  him 
His  mood  was  often  like  a  fiend,  and  rose 
And  drove  him  into  wastes  and  solitaries 
For  agony  who  was  yet  a  living  soul. 
Marr  d  as  he  was,  he  seem'd  the  goodliest 

man,  '' 

That  ever  among  ladies  ate  in  Hall, 
And  noblest,  when  she  lifted  up  her  eves 
However  marr'd,   of  more  than  twice  her 
years,  ^' 

^*^"''ch"ek''  ^"  3"='ent  swordcut  on  the 

And  bruised'  and  bronzed,  she  lifted  up  her 
eyes  ^ 

And  loved  him,  with  that  love  which  was  her 
doom. 


Then  the  great  knight,  the  darling  of  the 
court,  " 

Loved  of  the  loveliest,  into  that  rude  hall 
Stept  with  all  grace,  and  not  with  half  dis- 
dain 
Hid  under  grace,  as  in  a  smaller  time, 
Biit  kindly  man  moving  among  his  kind  : 

best^  ""^^'^  ^"^         ''^^  °^  "'^''' 

AnH   m""  f":' ™'»=^f';='  melody  enlertain'd. 
And  much  they  ask'd  of  court  and  Tabic 

Kound, 
And  ever  well  and  readily  answer'd  he  : 
But  Lancelot,  when  they  glanced  at  Guin?- 


"  witli  your  fellowship 
vns  whereon  I  lost  ray- 

you  as  guide  and  friend  ; 
1   this    diamond — as  I 

lond,  —  ifyou  may, 
laiden,  ifyou  will." 
ond,"  added  plain   Sir 

ns  and  not  for  simple 

d  her  eyes    upon    tlie 

r  name  so  tost  about 
e  shght  disparagement 
;n)ght,  who,  looking  at 

alsely,  thus  return'd : 
It  for  what  is  fair, 
to  be  counted  so, 
nent  then,  who  deem 

;wel  as  is  on  earth, 
1  of  like  to  like." 

ased:    the   lily   maid 

)ice  before  she  look'd, 
:ad  her  lineaments, 
ive  he  bare  the  Queen, 
he  bare  his  lord, 
nd  mark'd  it  ere  his 

:h  heights  with  one, 
est  and  all  the  world, 
or  It :  but  in  him 
e  a  fiend,  and  rose 
stes  and  solitudes 
t  a  living  soul, 
seem'd  the  goodliest 

ate  in  Hall, 
lifted  up  her  eyes, 
lore  than  twice  her 

nt  swordcut  on  the 

id,  she  lifted  up  her 

It  love  which  was  her 


t,  the  darling  of  the 

ito  that  rude  hall 
not  with  half  dis- 

smaller  time, 
iniong  his  kind: 
ind  vintage  of  their 

elody  enlertain'd. 
3f  court  and  Table 

'  answer'd  he  : 
^f  glanced  at  Guine- 


Suddenly  speaking  of  the  wordless  man 
Heard Jrom  the  fearou  that,  ten  y^a?s  be- 

^'''  ''to'ngue.  ""^'"  '"''  '■'='■'  ''''"  °^  his 
"  "'  'sfg''^'  ""''  '^*''"'''  ""^  of  their  fierce  de- 

"^^"'"mlim'd""'''  '"''  ^'"^  "'^y  ""8'''  a"d 
Fr«m  r^  %°"^  '■'!"'  'i"'«  daughter  fled 

woods"' ''""'•  ""'^  dwelt  among  the 
By  the  great  river  in  a  boatman's  hut. 

broke""""  "'°'''  '"'  °'"  g°°d  Arthur 
The  Pagan  yet  once  more  on  Badon  hill." 

"0  there,  good  Lord,  doubtless,"  Lavaine 
said,  rapt  '-'"v^iut 

By  all  the  sweet  and  sudden  passion  of  youth 
foff ""'  '"  "'  '^'^'''   "you  have 

o('ArZ':J°T-  "^'^  ^p"'>  yo"  know 

sioke^     '°"'  *^''*-"    ^"'^  Lancelot 

w!fh*5'!lL"'''- '''?  ^'  '■""'  as  having  been 
E  h?i'K  '"  '^-^  '^8l>t  which  all  day  long 
cfem  ™°""'  °^  'he    violent 

By  castle  Gurnion  where  the  glorious  King 

Carved  nf"  *=""^'''  T.™  °"'  lady's  Headf 
Carved  of  one  emerald,  centred  in  a  sun 

Za  \V^f'  '''I'  "shtenM  as  he  breathed  • 
When  ,£''.''°°"  '^"^  ^''  help'd  his  lord,        ' 
HorsL'°"^  neighmgs  of  thS  wild  white 
Set  every  gilded  parapet  shuddering  ; 
And  up  m  Agned  Cattiregonion  too? 

teok      ^^'^  sand-shores  of  Trath 

^'"""moinT  *  '''^''''"  *"""  ■  "'"'J  °n  'he 

Of  Badon  I  myself  beheld  the  King 
And  fn  u-  "?'  ^^""^  "f  ^"  his  Table^Round 
AndhLl!'.l*«^'°"'  "/'""S  Christ  and  h  n  ' 
And  break  them ;  and  I  saw  him,  after  stand 
nlf.V  heap  of  slain,  from  spur  to  plm,e 
And  «V-'''  •■'^'"g?""  ^"h  heathen  Wood 

•  Th«l    "^u™**,-  ^"h  a  great  voice  he  cried 
They^re^broken.  they  are  broken  '  fo^he 

Fo7trium!fh''^  ^^  '"'?'^^'  home,  nor  cares 

*  or  triumph  in  our  mimic  wars,  the  ioustr-  I 

la'jjhr  '"'■«'^'  "^'  himVownl^^ 

YeffiM"i''"^'''^  '"■«  better  men  than  he- 

Fil  s  him    t'"""'""  ^"I:'?«  fi«  "(God 
riiisnim,  I  never  sawh  slibA-  thpn.  !;v»= 
^o  greater  leader."  '  ^^^ 

Low  trt  »,.,  u         While  he  utter'd  this, 

"sJ^,      °'^"  heart  said  the  lily  maid, 

hlZr'''  ''"■■  ^^"  '°'d  '  ■  and  when 
From  talk  of  war  to  traits  of  pleasantry 


ELAINE. 


193 


Being  mirthful  he  but  in  a  stately  kind  - 
L)'7f  "  '°S^  T^  'hat  when  thi^ivngl^ile 
onii  °'"k''?  ''P''  ■''"°«  him  came  .i  cCd 
Of  melancholy  severe,  from  which  again 
The  hrj''r:;,'M'if.''°^"'"e  to  and  fro      • 
1  he  lilv  maid  had  striven  to  make  him  che,.r 
1  here  trake  a  sudden-beaming  tendernes,  ' 
.V["'^"r'-*  and  of  nature  :  anVshe  ,    '  'ht 
ihat  a  1  was  nature,  all,  perchance   fr  r  I  er 
And  all  nightlong  his  face  before  her  lived 
As  when  a  painter,  poring  on  a  face  ' 

Divinely  thro'  all  hindrance  finds  the  man 
Behind  It,  and  so  paints  him  that  h  s  f^ce 
Ihe  shape  and  cofor  of  a  mind  1  id   ife     ' 
Lives  for  his  children,  ever  at  its  best 
And  fullest ;  so  the  face  before  her  1  led 
Of     t?'^?-''"''  speaking  in  the  silence  full 
Of  nob  e  thmp,  and  held  her  from  her'sleep 
thought      ""•    ''^'^-hea.ed    in'Z 

^"^    Sin""'    '"    '"^"^"    "^   sweet 

First  as  in  fear,  step  after  step,  she  stole 

?r"  '^t  '°uS  «r"-s'airs.  hesitating    ' 
Anon. ^she  heard  Sir  Lancelot  cry^'n  the 

"This  shield,  my  friend,  where  is  it>"  and 

Lavaine  " 

Past  inward,  as  she  came  from  out  the  tower 

I  here  to  his  p- ,ud  horse  Lancelot  tur^"' 

and  smooth'd  ' 

N.„.,  »a  .„„d.  He  ,=!k.4  ;-5'J^,: 

Than  if  seven  men  had  set  upon  him  saw 
I  he  maiden  standing  in  the  dewy  iTeIu 

SeS "clme'o'nr^'^^''^  ^T  -  bStifuI. 
For  silent  fh^-r  '"*  ^ort  of  sacred  fear, 
Rant  on  hU  f     '"'  ^■'/?"=''  her,  she  stood 
c  fj    y  his  face  as  if  it  were  a  God's 

f  hn?  h"  ^,^^^='•  °"  her  a  wild  desire,' 
Sht  I      *'i°"^'^  ^^ar  her  favor  at  the  tilt 
"  Fafrl^d'^  '  r°'°"^  heart  in  asking  for  it. 

it's       '°*^  "^"^  ^  know  not -noble 
I  well  believe,  the  noblest -will  vou  wear 
My  favor  at  this  tourney?"    "  ^Tay," "lid 

"  Fair  lady,  since  I  never  yet  have  worn 
\  '^  vor  of  any  lady  in  the  lists. 

'   '  kn^w^^°"''  ^^  "'°'''  ^''°  '^""'^  •"«. 

"  ^^''mTrie  ''"'  '"''*"''' '  "  '^^"  •"  "'"ring 

I  S'th"""''  'I*  lesser  likelihood,  noble  lord 
That  those  who  know  should  know  you  " 
And  he  turn  d 

An  1  rn"T'  "P  ^"d  ''"'^n  w''h>n  his  mind, 
child     """"'  ^"''^"swer'd,  "True,  my 

WhL';   u''-OM''"i'  •  .'""^h  it  out  to  me  : 

sleeve        "     '^'    '"''^    '^™    "^  ^^^ 
^"'^'?brnV"'^''^"^^-"Shtit:then 

silin^'''"T°"  *"''  ''"'T*'  ^'"'h  a  smile 
tjaying,     I  never  yet  have  done  so  much 


•1 


I 

I 


^J 


im 


1      i 


't  I 


ill 

•-  * 

•f 


t94 


ELAINE. 


For  any  maiden  living,"  and  the  blood 
Sprang  to  her  face,  and  fill'd  her  with  de- 
light ; 
But  left  her  all  the  paler,  when  Lavaine 
Keturning  brought  the  yet  unblazon'd  shield. 
His  brother's  ;  which  he  gave  to  Lancelot, 
Who  parted  with  his  own  to  fair  Elaine  • 
Do  Die  this  grace,  my  child,  to  have  my 
shield  ' 

In  keeping  till  I  come."     "  A  grace  to  me," 
She  answer  d,  "  twice  to-day.       I  am  your 

Squire." 
Whereat     Lavaine    said,    laughinB,    "  Lilv 
maid,  ' 

For  fear  our  people  call  you  lily  maid 
In  earnest,  let  me  bring  your  color  back  • 
Once,  twice,  and  thrice  :  now  get  you  hence 

to  bed  "  : 
So  kiss'd  her,   and   Sir  Lancelot  his  own 

hand. 
And  thus  they  moved  away;  she  stay'd  a 

minute,  ' 

Then  made  a  sudden  step  to  the  gate,  and 

there  — 
Her  bright  hair  blown  about  the  serious  face 
\et  rosy-kindled  with  her  brother's  kiss  — 
Paused  in   the  gateway,    standing    by    the 

shield 
In  silence,  while  she  watch'd  their  arms  far- 

oit 
Sparkle,  until  they  dipt  below  the  downs. 
Ihen  to  her  tower  she  climb'd,  and  took  the 

shield. 
There  kept  it,  and  so  lived  in  fantasy 


?h  Y^^A  l*'*."  ~  *''».*  '"'^'■-  «"«•  liege  lord, 
1  hedread  Fendragon,  Britain's  kingofkincs. 
Of  whom  the  people  talk  mysteriously,  ^^ 
He  will  be  there -then  were  I  stricken  blind 
Ihat  minute,  I  might  say  -.hat  I  had  seen." 

So  spake  Lavaine,  and  when  they  reach'd 
ttie  lists  ' 

By  Camelpt  in  the  meadow,  let  his  eyes 

Run  thro'  the  peopled  gallery  which  half 
round 

Lay  like  a  rainbow  fall'n  upon  the  ersss. 

Until  they  found  the  clear-faced  ICingf'who 

.Since  to  his  crown  the  golden  dragon  clunjr 
And  down  Im  robe  thedr.igon  writPf  d  in  gofd 
And  from  the  carven-work  behind  him  crept 
Iw'o  dragons  gilded,  sloping  down  to  makl 
Arms  for  his  chair,  while  all  the  rest  of  them 

able"  ^°P'  ''"''  ^°^^^  '"""'^"'^ 

Tlf.!?"^""-"'  ^H  «°.°dwork,  till  they  found 
1  he  new  design  wherein  they  lost  themselves 
Vet  with  all  ease,  so  tend.r  was  the  work?' 
And,  in  the  costly  canopy  o'er  liim  set. 
Blazed  the  last  diamond  of  the  namelesi  king. 


Meanwhile  thf*  new  companions  past  away 
tar  oer  the  long  backs  of  the  bushless  downs, 
10  where  Sir  Lancelot  knew  there  lived  a 

knight 
Not  far  from  Camelot,  now  for  forty  years 
A  hermit,  who  h.id  pray'd,  labor'd  and  pray'd 
And  ever  laboring  had  scoop'd  himself^ 
Jn  the  white  rock  a  chapel  and  a  hall 
On  massive  columns,  like  a  shorecliff  cave, 
And  cells  and  chambers :  all  were  fair  and 

dry  ; 
The  green  light  from  the  meadows  under- 
neath 
Struck  up  and  lived  along  the  milky  roofs  ; 
And  in  the  meadows  tremulous  aspen-trees 
And  poplars  made  a  noise  of  falling  showers 
And  thither  wending  there  that  night  they 

But  when  the  next  day  broke  from  under- 
ground. 
And  shot  red  fire  and  shadows  thro'  the  cave 
lliey  rose,  heard  mass,  broke  fast,  and  rode 

away  ; 
Then  Lancelot  saying,  "  Hear,  but  hold  my 
name  ^ 

^^l^^t^^?"^  "^*  ^'''^  Lancelot  of  the  Lake," 
Abashed  Lavaine,  whose  instant  reverence 
i>carcr  to  true  young  hearts  than  their  own 

praise. 
But  left  him  leave  to  stammer,"  Is  it  indeed? " 
And  after  muttering  "  the  great  Lancelot  " 
At  last  he  got  his  breath  and  answer'd,  "  One 


Then   Lancelot  auswer'd  young  Lavaine 
and  said, 
'■Me  you  call  gre.it :  mine  is  the  'Irn.er  .^eat, 
Ihe  truer  lance  :  but  there  is  mar  /  .-  youth 
Now  crescent,  who  will  come  to  ali  i  an* 
And  overcome  it :  and  in  me  there  dwcl's 
No  greatness,  save  it  be  some  far-off  touch 
Of  greatness  to  know  well  I  am  not  great  • 
1  here  is  the  man."    And  Lavaine  gaped  up- 
on Iwm  "  ^       ' 
As  on  a  thing  miraculous,  and  anon 
1  he  trumpets  blew  ;  and  then  did  either  side, 
Ihey    hat  assailed,  and  they  that  held  the 

lists, 
Set  lance  in  rest,  strike  spur,  suddenly  move. 
Meet  in  the  midst,  and  there  so  furiously 
Shock,  that  a  man  far-off  might  well  perceive, 
If  any  man  that  d.iy  were  left  afield, 
1  he  hard  earth  shake,  and  a  low  thunder  of 

arms, 
^."fl  I-ancelot  bode  a  little,  till  he  saw 
Which  were  the  weaker  :  then  he  hurl'd  into  it 
Against  the  stronger  :  little  need  to  speak 
cn  Lancelot  in  his  glory  :  King,  duke,  earl 
Count,   baron  — whom  he  smote,   he   over- 
threw. 

But  in  the  field  were  Lancelot's  kith  and 

kin. 
Ranged  with  the  Table  Round  that  held  the 

lists. 
Strong  men,  and  wrathful  that  a  stranger 

knight  " 

Should  do  and  almost  overdo  the  deeds 
Of  Lancelot  :  and  one  said  fo  the  other.  "  Lo  ! 
What  IS  he  ?  I  do  not  mean  the  force  alone, 
1  he  grace  and  versatility  of  the  man  — 
Is  It  not  Lancelot  I  "     ""When  h^s  Lancelot 

worn 
Favor  of  any  lady  in  the  lists? 


that  other,  our  liege  lord, 
on,  britain's  king  of  kings, 
e  talk  mysteriously, 
then  were  I  stricken  blind 
;htsay 'hat  I  had  seen." 

e,  and  when  they  reach'd 

meadow,  let  his  eyes 
jpled  gallery  which  half 

fall'n  upon  the  gress, 
le  clear-faced  King,  who 

B,  easily  to  be  known, 
he  golden  dragon  clung, 
hedragon  writhed  in  gold, 
i-work  behind  him  crept 
,  sloping  down  to  make 
while  all  the  rest  of  them 
ops  and  folds  innumer- 

Yoodwork,  till  they  found 
rem  !hey  lost  themselves, 
tend^i-  was  the  work  : 
inopy  o'er  him  set, 
)nd  of  the  nameless  king. 

iiswer'd  young  Lavaiiie 

mine  is  the  'irn:er  seat, 
t  there  is  mar  /  -  youth 
vill  come  to  ali  i  am 
id  in  me  there  dwcH.s 
I  be  some  far-off  touch 
'  well  I  am  not  great: 
And  Lavaine  gaped  up- 


^"^  'Sow  "  *°"''  "  **•  "''"  ''"°*  hin,, 
"How  then?  who  then.' "a  fury  seized  on 
A  fiery  fami^  passion  for  the  name 

I  Ley  cm.ch'dthcr  .spears  and  prick 'd  their 
stLed.s  and  thus, 

t!ley"made'''"  "^^^"^^^^d  by  the  wind 
In  moving,  ail  together  down  upon  him 
Ware,  as  a  wild  wave  in  the  wild  North-sea 

""wilh  "'"'"«  'ov^•ard  the  summit,  be"s, 
Its  stormy  crests  that  smote  against  the  skies 
I)own  on  a  bark,  and  overbears  the  b!rk' 
And  him  that  helms  it,  so  they  overbore  ' 


ELAINE. 


^''"uHy'";  ^'"'''"  ^'^  ^'="  '"'d  worship. 
?^.''°''=  a  kn'S.ht  of  old  repute  to  the  earth 
And  brmight  his  horse  to  fancelot  where  f.'e 

He  up  the  side,  sweating  with  agony  cot 

The  diamond  '• ;  but  heanswer'd.  "Diamond 
No  diamonds  !  for  God's  love,  a  little  air  ' 
not"  ^  '''"■8^  y""'  f°"ow  me 


»95 
H.d  from  ^the  wide  world',  rumor  by  the 

'     ^"'ifs'Js,"'"  '^'^  *'''"  ^''"«'°'  fled  the 
His  paMy.'^  knights  of  utmost    North  and 

Lords.ofw'aste  marches,  kings  of  desolate 
Came^r<.und  their  great  Pendragon,  saying 

"^"'  t1;e'da°y"''  '^"'«'"  'hro- whom  we  won 
Hath  gon^e  sore  wounded,  and  hath  left  his 

■'^te"'  ''?•'"?  "1?'  '''^  P"^"  is  death  » 
Heaven    hinder,"  said  the    King    "that 
such  an  one,  *"      *"" 

So  great  a  knight  as  we  have  seen  to-dav- 
He  seem'd  to  me  another  Lancelot-    ^ 
Yea  twenty  times  I  thought  him  Lancelot - 
He  must  not  pas.s  uncare3  for.   Gawnin  r  ,7 
My  nephew,   and  ride  forth  anrfind^'tire 

Wounded^and  wearied,  needs  must  he  be 

And'kn;£"  ""'^T'  K''  ««  °"«  <"  horse. 
•  o"nfofVou'  ''"^^'  ''"'''  '^^""'"  "°' 

His'nmr  "'"  P""=  "'■  °"^«  's  "sWy  given  • 
His  prowess  was  too  wondrous,     wl  ^IHo 

No  customary  honor:  since  the  kniirht 

And  bring  us  what  he  is  and  how  he  f, re's 
And  c^ease_,not  from  your  quesT,   unt'l["ou 


He  spoke,  and  vanish'd  suddenly  from  the 

Ah,  my^sweet  lord,  Sir  Lancelot,"  said  La- 

Bmt''"rk'^f'^''r'''r"^^''"^ie'' 
Draw  "      nni  ^''^-'-'y  ^^'">  i'  ••  draw  - 

gaTe        ^^'^'"'^  '^'■^^'  ^"^  ">at  other 

AnTh:rf'fc.f^^t  friek  and  ghastlv  groan, 

sank     "    "  ■"  '""■"'■  ^"'^  ^"wn  he 

^nV^J:  P"''^  Pain.and  wholly  swoon'd  awav 

T  ere  'i^'"  the  hermit  out  and  bare  him^^ 

^    "daii^Sbt"'^   ^°""^'-   --^   •^-'  - 
Whether  to  live  or  die,  for  many  a  week 


So  saying  from  the  carven  flower  abov^ 
InH  ""'  "u"'il^«  =»  ^"'le^'^  hean?  he  took 
Andgave,  the  diamond  :  then  from  where  lie 

At  Arthur's  right,  with  smiling  face  arosP 
With  smiling  face  and  frowning  hear^  a  Prf'  « 
In  the  mid  might  and  flourislfof  I,  s  Mav 
(Mwa,n.^sun,amed  The  Courteous:  &d 

And  f,',^^'"^''°''  Tristram,  and  Geraint 
And  Lamorack,  a  good  knight,  but  there- 

The  batiquet,  and  concourse  of  knights  and 


got   to  horse   and 


So  all    in    wrath   he 
went ; 


'-!l^ 


«9« 

And 


ELAINE. 


ridd'ii  away  to  die  ? "    So  fear'd  the 

King, 

And,  after  two  days'  tarriance  there,  retum'd. 

Then  when  he  saw  the  Queen,  embracine, 

ask'd,  " 

"  Love,  are  yon  yet  so  nick  ?  "    "  N.iy,  lord  " 

she  s.Tid.  ' 

"  And    where    is    Lancelot  ?  "      Then    the 

Queen  amazed, 
"Was  he  not  with  you?  won  he  not  your 

prize?" 
"  Nay,  but  one  like  him."     "  Why  that  like 

was  he." 
And  when   the    King  demanded    how  she 

knew. 
Said,  "  Lord,  no  „ooner  had  you  parted  from 

us, 
Than  Lancelot  told  me  of  a  common  talk 
Ihat  men  went  down  before  his  spear  at  a 

touch. 
But  knowing  he  was  Lancelot ;  his  great 

name 
Conquer'd ;  and  therefore  would  he  hide  his 

name 
From  all  men,  e'en  the  king,  and  to  this  end 
Had  made  the  pretext  of  a  hindering  wound. 
That  he  might  joust   unknown  of  all,  and 

learn 
If  his  old  prowess  were  in  aught  decay'd  • 
And    added,    'Our    true   Arthur,   when  he 

learns. 
Will  well  allow  my  pretext,  as  for  gain 
Ofpurer  glory '" 

„  „     ,      ,.  Then  replied  the  King : 

r  ar  lovelier  in  our  Lancelot  had  it  been. 
In  lieu  of  idly  dallying  with  the  truth, 
lo  have  trusted  me  as  he  has  trusted  you. 
Purely  his  king  and  most  familiar  friend 
Might  well  have  kept  his  secret.     True,  in- 

_  deed. 
Albeit  I  know  my  knights  fanta.sfical, 
bo  fine  a  fear  in  our  large  Lancelot 
Must  needs  have  moved  my  laughter  :  now 

remains 
But  little  cause  for  laughter  :  his  own  kin  — 
HI  news,  my  Queen,  for  all  who  love  him 

these  I 
His  kith  and  kin,  not  knowing,  set  upon  him  ; 
bo  that  he  went  sore  wounded  from  the  field  • 
Yet  good  news   too :  for  goodly  hopes  are 

mine 
That  Lancelot  is  no  more  a  lonely  heart 
He  wore,  against  his  wont,  upon  his  helm 
A  sleeve  of  scarlet,   broidered    with    great 

pearls, 
Some  gentle  maiden's  gift." 

„  V       .  "  ^**>  lord."  she  said. 

Your  hopes  are  mine,"  and  saying  that  she 
choked, 

And  sharply  turn'd  about  to  hide  her  face, 

Moved  to  her  chamber,  and  there  flung  her- 
self 

Down  on  the  great  King's  much,  and  writhed 
upon  it. 

And  clench'd  her  fingers  till  they  bit  the 
palm. 

And  shriek'd  out  "  traitor  "  to  the  unhearine 
wall,  ^ 


Then  flash'd  into  wHd  tears,  and  rose  acain 
And  moved  about  her  palace,  proud  and  pale! 


Gawain  the  while  thro'  all  the  region  round 
Kode  with  hisdiiimond,  wearied  oftlie  quest, 
i  ouch  d..t  all  points,  except  t!ie  poplar  grove 
And  came  at  last,  tho'  late,  to  Astolat : 
Whom  glittering  in  enamell'd  arms  the  maid 
Glanced  at,   and  cried   "What  news  from 

Camelot,  lord  ? 
What  of  the  knight  with  the  red  sleeve'" 

He  won." 
"I  knew  it,"  she  said.     "But  parted  from 

the  jousts 
Hurt  in  the  side,"  whereat  she  caught  her 

breath. 
Thro-  her  own  side  she  felt  the  sharp  lance 

go; 
Thereon  she  smote  her  hand  :  wellnigh  sho 

swoon'd : 
And  while  he  gazed  wonderingly  at    her 
came  ' 

The  lord  of  Astolat  out,  to  whom  the  Prince 
Keported  who  he  was.  and  on  what  quest 
bent,  that  he  bore  the  prize  and  could  not 

find 
The  victor,  but  had  ridden  wildly  round 
lo  seek  hini,  and  was  wearied  of  the  search 
lo  whom  the  lord  of  Astolat,  "  Bide  with  us! 
And  ride  no  longer  wildly,  noble  Prince  I 
Here  was  the  knight,  and  here  he  left  a  shield; 
1  his  will  he  send^or  come  for  :  furthermore 
Our  son  is  with  him  ;  we  shall  hear  anon. 
Needs  must  we  hear."     To  this  the  cour- 
teous Prince 
Accorded  with  his  wonted  courtesy. 
Courtesy  with  a  touch  of  traitor  in  it. 
And  stay'd  ;  and  cast  his  eyes  on  fair  Elaine  • 
Where  could  be  found  face  daintier?  then 

her  shape 
From  forehead  dovra  to  foot  perfect  —  again 
.■^?r'",,     '.*,°  forehead  exquisitely  turn'd  : 
^^ell-if  I  bide,  lol  this  wild  flower  for 
me  I" 
And  oft  they  met  among  the  garden  yews, 
And  there  he  set  himself  to  pfay  upon  her 
With  sallying  wit,  free  flashes  from  a  height 
Above  her,  graces  of  the  court,  and  songs, 
Sighs,  and  sTow  smiles,  and  golden  eloquence 
And  amorous  adulation,  till  the  maid 
Kebell  d  against  it,  saying  to  him,  "  Prince, 
<^,  oyal  nephew  of  our  noble  King, 
Why  ask  you  not  to  see  the  shield  he  left. 
Whence  you  might  learn  his  name  ?    Why 
slight  your  King,  ■' 

And  lose  the  quest  he  sent  you  on,  and  prove 
No  surer  than  our  falcon  yesterday, 
Who  lost  the  hern  we  slipt  him  at,  and  went 
lo  all  the  winds?"     "  jfay,  by  mine  head," 

said  he,  ' 

"  I  lose  it,  as  we  lose  the  lark  in  heaven, 
O  damsel,  in  the  light  of  your  blue  eyes  : 
Hilt  ,7n  y.~i:  w;!!  ,t  let  mc  sec  the  shield." 
And  when  the  shield  was  brought,  and  Ga- 
wain saw 
Sir  Lancelot's  azure  lions,  crown'd  with  gold, 
Ramp  in  the  field,  he  smote  his  thigh  and 
mock'd ; 


'^-Jlr 


d  tear»,  and  rott  again, 
■  palace,  jiroud  and  pale. 

hro' all  llic  region  round 
id,  wearied  of  the  quest, 
excf'pt  tlie  poplar  grove, 
i'  late,  to  Astolnt : 
namellM  arnn  the  maid 
ed    "  What  news   (roni 

with  the  red  sleeve?" 

id.     "But  parted  from 

hercat  she  caught  her 

le  felt  the  sharp  lance 

it  hand :  wellnigh  she 

wonderingly  at    her, 

t,  to  whom  the  Prince 
and  on  what  quest 
e  prize  and  could  not 

dden  wildlv  round 
wearied  of  the  search. 
Lstolat,  "  Bide  with  us, 
dly,  noble  Prince  I 
tid  here  he  left  a  shield; 
ime  for  :  furthermore 
ve  shall  hear  anon, 
"     To  this  the  cour- 
ted courtesy, 
of  traitor  in  it, 
lis  eyes  on  fair  Elaine  : 
d  face  daintier?  then 

)  foot  perfect—  again 
!xquisitely  turn'd  : 
I  this  wild  flower  for 

g  the  garden  yews, 

If  to  plavupon  her 

Hashes  from  a  height 

le  court,  and  songs, 

and  golden  eloquence 

,  till  the  maid 

ng  to  him,  "Prince, 

loble  King, 

the  shield  he  left, 

rn  his  name?    Why 


;nt  you  on,  and  prove 
I  yesterday, 
ipt  him  at,  and  went 
Vay,  by  mine  head," 

e  lark  in  heaven, 
■your  blue  eyes  : 
:  sec  tho  sliielcl."" 
'as  brought,  and  Ga- 

s,  crown'd  with  gold, 
mote  his  thigh  and 


"'''■''nrmat .?"'"« '°"'-^--'°t'  that 

w^o1iS.d^;•af"^'•''"'«-^■'^ 

of  all  '•  "       ""  greatest  knight 

"  ^"''/^Ve''''"'"''"'"  «'"d  Gawain.  "  that  you 

This^reat«tknight.your  pardon  Mo.  you 

^'"\ain?"^'=  »'"»  r  waste  myself  in 
ImiII  simple  was  her  answer  :  "  What  know  r  ? 
My  hrctliren  have  been  all  mv  fello  v'h.T^' 
W  s  .VI  ^  "V  fV  "''^y  ''»^«  •■•"k'c!  of  ove 

talk'd "'   '''='"  "'y   "'°"'«'-.  fc'    they 
Mese.mJcUf  what  they  knew  not ;  so  my 

te*"'"'""  I  know  what  true  love  is 
Bit  If  I  know,  then,  if  I  love  not  him 

'^"'hWl,^''^'^"^'"-''he,"yo;''love 
But  wouM  not,  knew  you  what  all  others 

lifted  her  fair  face  and  moved  aww  • 
--.-  .-e  mirsued  her  calling,  "  StivSl  , 
One  eolcle,,  minute's  grfce  :  I'^^^ot^";;,, 

WouWhe^breakfaithwithonelmaynot 
M.?itTe  s™'  whv  t'^l''"^;  '\'  ?  '"^^'  '-^t? 

VVhere^y^'SteKte^S'Ke 

^tS'tiL's'rf  Ih  '^■^^^r" -" 
well  I  ^  thousand  times  fare- 

So  you  will  learn  the  cc,  te'ies  of  fhi  """''• 
We  two  shall  know  each  other."        '  '°"'''' 

And  ^ghtly  kiss-d  the  hand'S"J,U"^if^  I 

?  he  diamond,  and  all  weariM  nf  ,1, 
Leapt  on  hU  li«»o«       wearied  of  the  quest 

A  -uerrbate!',Si;rJ'iray.''^  --^ 


MLAms. 


»9; 


^or  by  mine  head  she  vLt^^^ ^^ 

The^^seId„„.f,o^,.„g  King  frown'd.  and 
I  00  courteous  truly  I  yon  .hill  „« 


Wroth  but  all  in 


And 

And 
Hut 


He  spake  and  parted 

f         awe.  

F„  ,.„,^  „„^„  „,  ,^^  ^^^^  _^.  ^^_  _  ^ 

Some  read  th/.  k'?.  '^.."'a'fl  ot  Asiolat." 

and  an    ^"'«  '  '''''^'  *°">«  ""■'  Queen's, 
Had  m^a^rvel  what  the  n,aid  might  be.  but 
Predoom'd  her  as  unworthv      nn«  ,  n  j 
"^'"^-ir'°-heStn5rifttsX^ 

She,  that  had  heard  the  noise  of  it  before 
But  so^rown^g  Lancelot  should  have  Soo'p-d 

Marr'd  her  friend's  point  with  pale  tranquil- 
Fire  in  Jl'^sullVP" '^'■'^  ^''"'■^ '^e  court. 

Till  e v'n  tVe  kSfJht'l  'Z'  '^''''  ^°''^«^  «'''^«d  •• 
Forgot  to  drinkin  ?        '.'"'""  1*'"  "^ «''rice 

aW^hZ\''''''T^^  P'''^'''  '■e't  'he  knot 
Sh'i^he  wite'"'  "'"^  ''^  feet°unseen 
Benea.^h2f£lq-r:hrr:^rC2: 
As  wormwood,  and  she  hated  all  who  pledged. 


J"hlK^-nf  ^°"^''^^P-*^''^-toId 
'kmj^;';?'^"'^-'"^-  Lancelot  is  the 
Andadded.   "Sire,  myliege,   so  much  I 

The  f'iT- 11  n"^  '^'\  '  '"^^^  =»"  ^"""d 
"^-Sr--"-^'S-and 


But  far  awa>;  the  maid  in  Astolat 
ThJ  ^"'">''  "^=''  ^he  that  ever  kept 

Is^yo^rsUo'l""  ^^  "'■"■"'•'^"?.  'he  fault 
Swee   father    1 11      ^'1''^  "^^  "■'"•  '"d  now. 
"Nav  ,  ''"-i'^'".?'""  '^'  nie  lose  my  wits?" 

me  hen«'"  '"'■^'^•"    "  ^her'efore  iet 
^^'  'vaint-'   "'"''  ^""^  °"'  «"'  dear  La- 

BS^^-r^^wi.^^^,„,^ 

"  A*^'^'  ?",^  "^"'^^  Other."    "  Ay  "  she  «!H 


i 


m 


198 


ELAINE. 


And  with  mine  own  hand  give  his  diamond 

to  him, 
Lest  I  be  found  as  faithless  in  the  quest 
As  yon  proud  Prince  who  left  the  quest  to 

me. 
Sweet  father,  I  behold  him  in  my  dreams 
Gaunt  as  it  were  the  skeleton  of  himself, 
Death-pale,  for  lack  of  gentle  maiden's  aid. 
The    gentler-born    the    maiden,    the    more 

bound. 
My  father,  to  be  sweet  and  serviceable 
To  noble  knights  in  sickness,  as  you  know, 
When  these  have  worn  their  tokens  :  let  me 

hence 
I  pray  you."    Then  her  father  nodding  said, 
"Ay,  ay.  the  diamond:  wit  you  well,  my 

child. 
Right  fain  were  I  to  learn  this  knight  were 

whole, 
Being  our  greatest :  yea,  and  you  must  give 

it  — 
And  sure  I  think  this  fruit  is  hung  too  high 
For  any  mouth  to  gape  for  save  a  Queen's  — 
Nay,  I  mean  nothing  :  so  then,  get  you  gone. 
Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  go." 

Lightly,  her  suit  allow'd,  she  slipt  away, 
And  while  she  made  her  ready  for  her  ride. 
Her  father's  latest  word  humm'd  in  her  ear, 
"  Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  go," 
And  changed  itself  and  echoed  in  her  heart, 
"  Being  so  very  wilful  you  must  die." 
But  she  was  happy  enough  and  shook  it  off. 
As  we  shake  off  the  bee  that  buzzes  at  us  ; 
And  in  her  heart  she  answer'd  it  and  said, 
"What  matter,  so  I  lielp  him  back  to  life  ?" 
Then  far  away  with  good  Sir  Tone  for  guide 
Rode  o'er  the  long  backs  cf  the  bushless 

downs 
To  Camelot,  and  before  the  city-gates 
Came  on  her  brother  with  a  happy  face 
Making  a  roan  horse  caper  and  curvet 
For  pleasure  all  about  a  field  of  flowers  : 
Whom  when  she  saw,  "  Lavaine,"  she  cried, 

"  Lavaine, 
How  fares  my  lord  Sir  Lancelot?"     He 

amazed, 
"Torre  and  Elaine  I  why  here?  Sir  Lance- 
lot I 
How  know  you  my  lord's  name  is  I,ancelot  ? " 
But  when  the  maid  had  told  him  all  her  tale, 
Then   tum'd  Sir  Torre,  and  being  in   his 

moods 
Left  tliem,  and  under  the  strange-statued 

gate, 
Where  Arthur's  wars  were  render'd  mysti- 
cally. 
Past  up  the  still  rich  city  to  his  kin, 
His  own  far  blood,  which  dwelt  at  Camelot ; 
And  her  Lavaine  across  the  poplar  grove 
Led  to  the  caves :  there  first  she  saw  the 

casque 
Of  Lancelot  on  the  wall 
Tho*  carved  and 


cut, 


away, 


her  scarlet  sleeve, 
and  half  the  pearls 


Stream'd  from  it  still ;  and  in  her  heart  she 

laugh'd, 
Bttcause  he  had  not  loosed  it  from  his  helm, 


But  meant  once  more  perchance  to  tourney 

in  it. 
And  when  they  gain'd  the  cell  in  which  lie 

slept. 
His  battle-writhen  arms  and  mighty  hands 
Lay  naked  on  the  wolfskin,  and  a  dream 
Of  dragging  down   his  enemy  made   them 

move. 
Then  she  that  saw  him  lying  unsleek,  un- 
shorn. 
Gaunt  as  it  were  the  skeleton  of  him.self, 
Utter'd  a  little  tender  dolorous  cry. 
The  sound  not  wonted  in  a  place  so  still 
Woke  the  sick  knight,  and  while  he  roU'd 

his  eyes 
Yet  blank  from  sleep,  she  started  to  him, 

saying, 
"  Your  prize  the  diamond  sent  you  by  the 

King": 
His  eyes  glisten'd :  she  fancied  "  is  it  for 

me  ? " 
And  when  the  maid  had  told  him  all  the  tale 
Of  King  and  Prince,  the  diamond  sent,  the 

quest 
Assign'd  to  her  not  worthy  of  it,  she  knelt 
Full  lowly  by  the  corners  of  his  bed. 
And  laid  the  diamond  in  his  open  hand. 
Her  face  was  near,  and  as  we  kiss  the  cliild 
That  does  the  task  assign'd,  he  kiss'd  her 

face. 
At  once  she  slipt  like  water  to  the  floor. 
"  Alas,"  he  said,  '"your  ride  has  wearied  you. 
Rest  must  you  have."    "  No  rest  for  me," 

she  said  ; 
"  Nay,  for  near  you,  fair  lord,  I  am  at  rest." 
What  might  she  mean  by  that?  his  large 

black  eyes. 
Yet  larger  thro'  his  leanness,  dwelt  upon  her, 
Till  all  her  heart'.s  srul  secret  blazed  itself 
In  the  heart's  colors  on  her  simple  face  ; 
And  Lancelot  look'd  and  was  perplext  in 

mind. 
And  being  weak  in  body  said  no  more  ; 
But  did  not  love  the  color  ;  woman's  love, 
Save  one,  he  not  regarded,  and  so  tum'd 
Sighing,  and  feign'd  a  sleep  until  he  slept. 

Then  rose   Elaine  and  glided  thro'  the 
fields. 
And  past  beneath  the  wildly-sculptured  gates 
Far  up  the  dim  rich  city  to  her  kin  ; 
There  bode  the  night :  but  woke  with  dawn, 

and  past 
Down  thro'  the  dim  rich  city  to  the  fields. 
Thence  to  the  cave  :  so  day  by  day  she  past 
In  either  twilight  ghost-like  to  and  fro 
Gliding,  and  every  day  she  tended  him. 
And  likewise  many  a  night :  and  Lancelot 
Would,  tho'  he  call'd  his  wound  a  little  hurt 
Whereof  he  should  be  quickly  whole,  at  times 
Brain-feverous  in  his  heat  and  agony,  seem 
Uncourteous,  even  he :  but  the  meek  maid 
Sweetly  forbore  him  ever,  being  to  him 
Meeker  than  any  child  to  a  rough  nurse, 
Milder  than  any  mother  to  a  sick  child. 
And  never  woman  yet,  since  man's  first  fall. 
Did  kindlier  unto  man,  but  her  deep  love 
Upbore  her ;  till  the  hermit,  skill'd  in  all 


For 


perchance  fo  toumey 

i  the  cell  in  which  lia 

IS  and  mighty  hands 

skin,  and  a  dream 

is  enemy  made   them 

im  lying  unsleek,  un- 

keleton  of  himself, 
dolorous  cry. 
in  a  place  so  still 
,  and  while  he  roU'd 

,  she  started  to  him, 

lond  sent  you  by  the 

he  fancied  "is  it  for 

d  fold  him  all  the  tale 
he  diamond  sent,  the 

rlhy  of  it,  she  knelt 
!rs  of  his  bed, 
in  his  open  hand. 
I  as  we  kiss  the  cliild 
sigu'd,  he  kiss'd  her 

/ater  to  the  floor. 
■  ride  has  wearied  you. 
"  No  rest  for  me," 

r  lord,  I  am  at  rest." 
1  by  that?  his  large 

mess,  dwelt  upon  her, 
secret  blazed  itself 
her  simple  face ; 
and  was  perplext  in 

yr  said  no  more  ; 
or ;  woman's  love, 
led,  and  so  turn'd 
leep  until  he  slept. 

nd  glided  thro'  the 

Idly-sculptured  gates 

'  to  her  kin  ; 

but  woke  with  dawn, 

1  city  to  the  fields, 
day  by  day  she  past 
like  to  and  fro 
he  tended  him, 
;ht :  and  Lancelot 
s  wound  a  little  hurt 
lickly  whole,  at  times 
It  and  agony,  seem 
3ut  the  meek  maid 
•,  being  to  him 
3  a  rough  nurse, 
to  a  sick  child, 
ince  man's  first  fall, 
)ut  her  deep  love 
mit,  skill'd  in  all 


ELAINE. 


The  simples  and  the  science  of  that  time. 
Told  hini  that  her  fine  care  had  saved  his 

life. 
And  the  sick  man  forgot  her  simple  blush. 
Would    call   her   friend  and   sister,    sweet 

Elame, 
Would  listen  for  her  coming  and  regret 
Her  parting  step,  and  held  her  tenderly 
And   loved  her    with  all  love   except  the 

love 
Of  man  and  woman  when  they  love  their 

best 
Closest    and    sweetest,  and  had   died    the 

death 
In  any  knightly  fashion  for  her  sake. 
And  peradventure  had  he  seen  her  first 
ilie  might  have  made  this  and  that  other 

world 
Another  world  for  the  sick  man  ;  but  now 
1  He  shackles  of  an  old  love  straiten'd  him. 
His  honor  rooted  in  dishonor  stood. 
And  faith  unfaithful  kept  him  falsely  true 


'«« 


Yet  the  great  knight  in  his  mid-sickness 
made 
Full  many  a  holy  vow  and  pure  resolve, 
inese,  as  but  bom  of  sickness,  could  not 
live : 

For  when   the  blood   ran   lustier  in  him 

again. 
Full  often  the  sweet  image  of  one  face, 
Making  a  treacherous  quiet  in  his  heart. 
JJispersed  his  resolution  like  a  cloud 
Ihen    if  the    maiden,    while    that  ghostly 

Beam'd  on  his  fancy,  spoke,  he  answer'd  not 
Or  short  and  coldly,  and  she  knew   right 
well  ^ 

What  the  rough  sickness  meant,  but  what 

this  meant 
She  knew  not,  and  the  sorrow  dimm'd  her 

sight, 

fiddl    ''"  ^^^  '^^   ^''"^    ^"°**  ^''^ 
Far  into  the  rich  city,  where  alone 

He'  win  T;'^'  "  ^''"'  •  V"  =  ■' """°'  be. 
die?^'  ™*'  *''^°'    ™"^'  ^ 

Tha?  h«  k'I*  ""^'p'"?  '""°«"'  bird, 

iotes^     °"'   P'""   P^'Se   of  few 

F^or'-,li"fn"f^  TP'^  P'''''*^''  °'"  and  o'er 
Wp.r  L  ?  ^P"'  !""''"'"g.  t'll  the  ear 

dief"         "'^      "-epeatmg,  "Must  I 

And  tl'-A    '■'^'"  ^^^  *"'•";'•'  «"d  "°^^  to  left. 
And  ound  no  case  in  turn  ng  or  in  rest  • 

And  "h.m^.or,dea.h"  sh„  m'utterM:"  death 
Again  and  like  a  burthen,  "him  or  death." 

°"' whole,  ^'''  ^^"«'°''»  deadly  hurt  was 
To  Astolat  returning  rode  the  three. 
In  .h=.t  ^^"  ''y  '^".'■"'  arraying  her  sweet  <;elf 
In  tha^  «J,erein  she  deem'd  she  look'd  her 


^''    "  oughV^"'"    ^'    ^^''"'°*'    f°^   -^^ 

l7ni  Ht,'""-^'''  "?".^  *■■*  wy  festal  robes, 
It  not,  the  victim's  flowers  before  he  fall  " 
And  Lancelot  ever  prest  upon  the  maid 

Wm  ''°""'  «°°'^'y  sift  of 

For  her  own  self  or  hers ;  "and  do  not  shun 
lospeakjhewish  most  near  to  your  tr^e 

Such   service    have   you   done  me,   that  I 
make 

^y    ^j"  ?f  yours,  and  Prince  and  Lord 

In  mine  own  land,  and  what  I  will  I  can  " 
Ihen  like  a  ghost  she  lifted  up  her  face, 

s  tak    ^  '^'"'°"'    '''*  P""^"  '° 

^"'^    wTs"'°'  ^^  *''*'  ^^^  withheld  her 

And  bode  among  them  yet  a  little  space, 

chancel;*    '"■"  '' '  ""'^  °"*""°"'  ■' 
He  found  her  in  among  the  garden  yews, 

'wfs'h    ^  ^^ ""  '°"^"'  'p^^''  y"""" 

Seeing  I  ^ust  go  to-day":  then  out  she 

brake ; 
"  Going  ?  and  we  shall  never  see  you  more 
And  I  must  die  for  want  of  one  bold  word  " 
Speak  :  that  I  live  to  hear,"  he  said    ''is 
yours." 
Then  suddenly  and  passionately  she  spoke  • 
I  have  gone  mad.     i  love  you :  let  me 
die." 

"Ah  sister,"  answer'd  Lancelot,  "what  is 
this .' " 

"  Ym,r"lov'.""  \"'''?^"'S  her  white  arms, 
Your  love,'' she  said,  "your  love-  to  be 
your  wife." 

And  Lancelot  answer'd,  "  Had  I  chos'n  to 
wed, 

Blfnnw'.h""'^'''''  •^^'''■'^'•'  «^eet  Elaine: 
'•  No  .^  mT  """y^l  ^■'"  be  wife  of  mine." 
But  ^n  vf»'     -hf  "'^'''  ■  !  ^  "=are  not  to  be  wife. 
But  to  be  with  you  still,  to  see  your  face, 

worid'"'^"°'  '°  '°"°*  ^°"  ''^'■°'  *''* 

And  Lancelot  answer'd,   "Nay,  the  world, 

the  world, 
All  ear  and  eye,  with  such  a  stupid  heart 
io    interpret    ear   and    eye,    and    such    a 

tongue 
1°  blare  its  own  interpretation  —nay, 
I'm!  Ill  then  should  I   quit  your  brother's 

love, 

And  your  good  father's  kindness."    And  she 
said, 

■'Not  to  be  with  you,  not  to  see  your  face, 
Alas  for  mp  then   m"  ~"— 1  A 4--   • 

Nay,    noble  maid,"  he   answer'd,   "ten 

times  nay  I 
This  is  not  love  :  but  love's  first  flash  in 

youth, 
Most  common  :  yea,  I  know  it  of  mine  own 

self : 
And  you  yourself  will  smile  at  your  own 


itoo 


elawjs. 


in 


'111 


Hereafter,  when  you  yield  your  flower  oflife 
10  one  more  fitly  yours,  not  thrice  your  age  • 
And  then  will  I,  for  true  you  are  and  sweet 
Beyond  mine  old  belief  in  womanhood, 
More  specially  should  your  good  knight  be 

poor, 
Endow  you  with  broad  land  and  territory 
Even  to  the  half  my  realm  beyond  the  seas, 
Ijo  that   would  make   you  happy  ;   further- 
more, 
Ev  'n   to  the  death,  as  tho'  you  were  my 
blood,  ■' 

In  all  your  quarrels  will  I  be  your  knight 
This  will  I  do,  dear  damsel,  for  your  sake. 
And  more  than  this  I  cannot." 

ou        •.!_     , ,    ,  . .  While  he  spoke 

Ssne  neither  blush'd  nor  shook,  but  deathlv- 
pale  ■' 

Stood  grasping  what  was  nearest,  then  re- 
plied, 
A  9f  ^'.'  this  will  I  nothing  "  ;  and  so  fell, 
And  thus  they  bore  her  swooning  to  her 
tower. 

Then  spake,  to  whom  thro'  those  black 
walls  of  yew 
Their  talk  had  pierced,  her  father,  "Ay,  a 

flash, 
I  fear  me,  that  will  strike  my  blossom  dead 
loo  courteous  are  you,  fair  Lord  Lancelot  ' 
I  pray  you,  use  some  rough  discourtesy 
To  blunt  or  break  her  passion." 

..  Tho*  •  Lancelot  said. 

That   were  against  me;    what  I    can  I 

will  "  ; 
And  there  that  day  remain'd,  and  toward 

even 
Sent  for  his  shield  :   full  meekly  rose  the 

maid, 
Stript  off  the  case,    and    gave  the  naked 

shield  ; 
Then,  when  she  heard  his  horse  upon  the 

stones. 
Unclasping  flung  the  casement  back,  and 

look'd 
Down  on  his  helm,  from  which  her  sleeve 

had  gone. 
And  Lancelot  knew  the  little  clinking  sound : 
And  she  by  tact  of  love  was  well  aware 
I  hat  Lancelot  knew  that  she  was  looking  at 

him. 
And  yet  he  glanced  not  up,  nor  waved  his 

hand, 
Nor  bade  farewell,  but  sadly  rode  away. 
This  was  the  one  discourtesy  that  he  used. 


But  when  they  left  her  to  herself  again, 
Death,  like  a  friend's  voice  from  a  distant  field 
Approaching  thro'  the  darkness,  called  ;  the 

!  owls 

i  Wailing  had  power  upon  her,  and  she  mixt 
Her  fancies  with  the  sallow-rifted  glooms 

I  (Jl  evening,  and  the  moanings  of  the  wind. 

A  "^"^  iili'j"**  ^^y^  ^^^  "lade  a  little  song. 
And  call'd  her  song  "The  Song  of  Love  and 

Death, 
And  sang  it :  sweetly  could  she  make  and 

sing. 

"Sweet  is  true  love,  tho'  given  in  vain,  in 
vain  ;  ' 

And  sweet  is  death  who  puts  an  end  to  pain  : 
i.  Know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  L 

"  Love,  art  thou  sweet  ?  then  bitter  death 
must  be  : 
Love,  thou  art  bitter  ;  sweet  is  death  to  me. 
U  Love,  if  death  be  sweeter,  let  me  die. 

"  Sweet  Love,  that  seems  not  made  to  fade 
away. 
Sweet  death,  that  seems  to  make  us  loveless 

T  I       *^'^y' 

I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 

"  I  fain  would  follow  love,  if  that  could  be  ; 
I  needs  must  follow  death,  who  calls  for  me  ; 
Call  and  I  follow,  I  follow  I  let  me  die." 

High  with  the  last  line  scaled  her  voice,  and 

this, 
All  in  a  fiery  dawning  wild  with  wind 
That  shook  her  tower,  the  brothers  heard, 

and  thought 
With  shuddering,  "  Hark  the  Phantom  of 

the  house 
That   ever   shrieks    before  a  death,"  and 

call'd 
The  father,  and  ail  three  in  hurry  and  fear 
Ran  to  )ier,  and  lo  I  the  blood-red  light  of 

dawn 
Flared  on  her  face,  she  shrilling  "  Let  me 

die  I" 


So  in  her  tower  alone  the  maiden  sat : 
His  very  shield  was  gone  :  only  the  case, 
Her  own  poor  work,  her  emptv  labor,  left. 
But  still  she  heard  him,   still  his  picture 

form'd 
And  gjew  between  her  and  the  pictured  wall. 
1  hen  came  her  father,  saving  in  low  tones 

Have  comfort,"  whom  she  greeted  quietly. 
Then  came  her  brethren  saying,  "  Peace  to 

thee 
Sweet  sister,"  whom  she  answer'd  with  all 

calm. 


As  when  we  dwell  upon  a  word  we  know 
I  Repeating,  till  tlie  word  we  know  so  well 
;  Becomes  a  wonder  and  we  know  not  wh\', 
I  So  dwelt  the  father  on  her  face  and  thought 
"Is  this  Elaine?"  till  b.^ck  the  maiden  fell, 
J  hen  gave  a  languid  hand  to  each,  and  lay. 
Speaking  a  still  good-mcnow  with  her  eyes 
At  last  she  said,  "  Sweet   brothers,  yester- 
night 
I  seein'd  a  curious  little  maid  again, 
As   happy  as  when  we  dwelt    among  the 

woods, 
And  when  you  used  to  take  me  with  the 

flood 
Up  the  great  river  in  the  boatman's  boat. 
Only  you  would  not  pass  bevond  the  c.ipe 
That  has  the  poplar  on  it  :  there  y  "  fixt 
Your  limit,  oft  returning  with  thf  \W'c 
And  yet  I  cried  because  yon  wuild  not  pa;  s 


r  to  herself  again, 
oice  from  a  distant  field 
:  darkness,  called  ;  the 

)on  her,  and  she  mixt 
lallow-rifted  glooms 
loanings  of  the  wind. 

he  made  a  little  song. 
The  Song  of  Love  and 

could  she  make  and 


the'  given  in  vain,  in 

10  puts  an  end  to  pain  : 
veeter,  no,  not  I. 

et?  then  bitter  death 

sweet  is  death  to  me. 
i-eeter,  let  me  die. 

eems  not  made  to  fade 

IS  to  make  us  loveless 

'eeter,  no,  not  I. 

love,  if  that  could  be; 
Ub,  who  calls  for  me  ; 
owl  let  me  die." 

s  scaled  her  voice,  and 

•ild  with  wind 

,  the  brothers  heard, 

irk  the  Phantom  of 

ifore  a  death,"  and 

e  in  hurry  and  fear 
e  blood-red  light  of 

5  shrilling  "  Let  me 


in  a  word  we  know 
wc  know  so  well 
kve  know  not  why, 
er  face  and  thought 
.ick  the  maiden  fell, 
id  to  each,  and  lay, 
-r;-ow  with  her  eyes. 
et   brothers,  yester- 

maid  again, 
dwelt   among  the 

take  me  with  the 

boatman's  boat, 
bevnnd  the  cape 
:_  there  y  r  fixt 
with  thp  t'r'p 
j'oii  -.'  .K'.ld  not  pa.-^s 


£lAW£:. 


Beyond  it,  and  far  up  the  shining  flood 

Until  we  found  the  palace  of  the  king 

And  yet  you  would  not ;   but  this  night  I 

dream'd 
That  I  was  all  alone  upon  the  flood, 
And  then  I  said,   '  Now  shall  I   have  mv 

will ' : 
And  there   I  woke,  but  still  the  wish  re- 

main'd. 
So  let  me  hence  that  I  may  pass  at  last 
Beyond  the  poplar  and  far  up  the  flood. 
Until  I  find  the  palace  of  the  king. 
There  will  I  enter  in  among  them  all, 
And  no  man  there  will  dare  to  mock  at  me ; 
But  there  the  fine  Gawain  will  wonder  at  me. 
And  there  the  great  Sir  Lancelot  muse  at  me ; 
Oawain,whobadea  thousand  farewells  to  me, 
Lancelot,  who  coldly  went  nor  bade  me  one  • 
And  there  the  King  will  know  me  and  my 

love. 
And  there  the  Queen  herself  will  pity  me 
And  all  the  gentle  court  will  welcome  me. 
And  after  my  long  voyage  I  shall  rest !  " 

"Peace,"  said  her  father,  "O  my  child. 

you  seem 
Light-headed,  for  what  force  is  yours  to  go, 
bo  far,  oeing  sick?  and  wherefore  would  you 

look  ' 

On  this  proud  fellow  again,  who  scorns  us 
all? 

Then  the  rough  Torre  began  to  heave  and 

And  bluster  into  stormy  sobs  and  say, 

I  never  loved  him  :  an  I  meet  with  him. 
1  care  not  howsoever  great  he  be, 
Ihen  will   I  strike  at  him  and  strike  him 

down. 
Give  me  good  fortune,  I  will  strike  him  dead, 
*or  this  discomfort  he  hath  done  the  house." 

To  which  the  gentle  sister  made  reply. 
Fret  not  yourself,   dear  brother,  nor  be 
wroth. 
Seeing  it  is  no  more  Sir  Lancelot's  fault 
Not  to  love  me,  than  it  is  mine  to  love 
ilim  of  all  men  who  seems  to  me  the  hieh- 
est." 

" ^'§¥.''\-  "  'Ije  Father  answer'd,  echoing 
highest."  * 

(He  meant  to  break  the  passion  in  her.) 
Nay,  ' 

Daughter,  I  know  not  what  you  call  the  high- 
est ; 
But  this  I  know,  for  all  the  people  know  it, 

Anri  I*'  "j''  ^"f?"',  ^"'^.i"  a"  °Pen  shame : 
And  she  returns  his  love  in  open  shame. 
It  tins  be  high,  what  is  it  to  be  low  ?  " 

^  Then  spake  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat  : 

bweet  father,  all  too  fai.it  and  sick  am  I 
^  or  anger  :  these  are  slanders  :  never  yet 
was  noble  man  but  made  ignoble  talk. 
He  makes  no  friend  who  never  made  a  foe 
uut  now  It  IS  my  glory  to  have  loved 
One  peerless,  without  stain  :  so  let  me  pass, 
My  father,  howsoe'er  I  seem  to  you 


i6t 

Not  all  unhappy,  having  loved  God's  best 
And  greatest,  tho'  my  love  had  no  return  • 
Yet,  seeing  you  desire  your  child  to  live, 
1  Hanks,  but  you  work  against  your  own  de- 
sire ; 
For  if  I  could  believe  the  things  you  say 
I  should  but  die  the  sooner :  wherefore  cease. 
Sweet  father  and  bid  call  the  ghostly  man   ' 
Hither,  and  let  me  shrive  me  clean,  and  die."  ' 

So  when  the  ghostly  man  had  come  and 
gone. 
She  with  a  face,  bright  as  for  sin  forgiven 
Besought  Lavaine  to  write  as  she  devised 
A  letter,  word  for  word  ;  and  when  he  ask'd 

Is  it  for  Lancelot,  is  it  for  my  dear  lord? 
Then  will  I  bear  it  gladly  "  ;  she  replied, 
tor  Lancelot  and  the  Queen  and  all  the 
worid. 
But  I  myself  must  bear  it."    Then  he  wrote 
Ihe  letter  she  devised ;  which  being  writ 
And  folded,   "O  sweet  father,  tender  and 

true. 
Deny  me  not,"  she  said  -  "  you  never  yet 
IJenied  my  fancies  —  this,  however  strange. 
My  latest :  lay  the  letter  in  my  hand 
A  little  ere  I  die,  and  close  the  hand 
Upon  It ;  I  shall  guard  it  even  in  death. 
And  ^yhen  the  heat  is  gone  from  out  my 
heart,  ■' 

Then  take  the  little  bed  on  which  I  died 
For  Lancelot's  love,   and  deck  it  like  the 

Queen's 
For  richness,  and  me  also  like  the  Queen 
a"  5    ^  ¥^*  of  rich,  and  lay  me  on  it. 
And  let  there  be  prepared  a  chariot-bier 
Jo  take  me  to  the  river,  and  a  barge 
Be  ready  on  the  river,  clothed  in  black. 
1  go  in  state  to  court,  to  meet  the  Queen. 
I  here  surely  I  shall  speak  for  mine  own  self, 
And  none  of  you  can  speak  for  me  so  well. 
And  therefore  let  our  dumb  old  man  alone 
Go  with  me,  he  can  steer  and  row,  and  he 
WiU  guide  me  to  that  palace,  to  the  doors." 

She  ceased ; 
upon 

She  grew  so  cheerful  that  they  deem'd  her 
death 

Was  rather  in  the  fantasy  than  the  blood. 

But  ten  slow  mornings  past,  and  on  the  elev- 
enth 

Her  father  laid  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

And  closed  the  hand  upon  it,  and  she  died. 

So  that  day  there  was  dole  in  Astolat. 

But  when  the  next  sun  brake  from  under- 

ground, 
Then,  those  two  brethren  slowly  with  bent 

brows 
Accompanying,  the  sad  chariot- bier 
Past  like  a  shadow  thro'  the  field,  that  shone 
tullsummer,  to  that   stream  whereon  the 

barge, 
Pall'd  all  Its  length  in  blackest  samite,  lay. 
Xhere  sat  the  lifelong  creature  of  the  house. 
Loyal,  the  dumb  old  servitor,  on  deck, 
Winking  his  eyes,  and  tuisted  all  his  face. 


her  father  promised;   where- 


SM 


So  those  two  brethren  from  the  chariot  took 
And  on  the  black  deeks  laid  her  in  he  bed. 
Set  in  her  hand  a  lily,  o'er  her  hung 

Anfi'L-    mT"  *"^  ^'■*'''*'*  blazonings, 
And  kiss'd  her  quiet  brows,  and  saying  to 

."  i'"'"'  (f  e^-ell  forever."  and  again, 
Farewell,  sweet  sister,"  parted  all  in  tears 
d°ead  ""  '^'""^  old  servhor:  and  the 

^'^'"^' flood'-  ^"'"'^  '""'  "Pward  with  the 
In  her  right  hand  the  lily,  in  her  left 

dowiw      ''"   ''"''''"  ^'''"  ^t^aming 
And  all  the  coverlid  was  cloth  of  gold 
Drawn  to  her  waist  and  she  herself  in  white 
wic    '  ''f  <?«., =>"d.that  clear-featured  face 
Was  lovely,  for  she  did  not  seem  as  dead 
But  fast  asleep,  and  lay  as  tho'  she  smiled. 


3SLAINE. 


While  thus  bespoke,  half  turned  away,  the 
Queen  •"  " 

Brake  from  the  vast  oriel-embowering  vine 

rfl?  .'If'^^"^'"''  '°['=-  ^"d  «^'  them  offf 
iill  all  the  place  whereon   she  stood  was 
green ;  ^* 

'^"''"'irand"  ''"  "'""''■  '"  °"'  '°''^  P^^^'^e 
Received  at  once  and  laid  aside  the  gems 
I  here  on  a  table  near  her,  and  replied  : 


'  ^  W\ 


Tnai  day  Sir  Lancelot  at  the  palace  craved 
Auuience  of  Guinevere,  to  give  at  last 
i  he  price  of  halt  a  realm,  his  costly  gift, 
Hara  wen  and  hardly  won  with  bruise  and 

jIow, 
With  deaths  of  others,  and  almost  his  own, 
Ihenine-years-foaght-for  diamonds:  for  he 
saw 

One  of  he,  house,  and  sent  him  to  the  Queen 
nearing  his  w^sh,  whereto  the  Queen  agreed 
^■^  ith  such  and  so  unmoved  a  rnajesty 
She  might  lavc  seem'd  her  statue,  but  that 

' 
Lovdroojj.  .g    till    he  wellnigh  kiss'd  her 

feet 
■r?""  '">3lawe,  saw  with  a  sidelong  eye 
Kie  c.ndowofa  piece  of  pointed  lace, 
in  the  Queen's  shadow,  vibrate  on  the  walls, 
And  parted,  laughing  in  his  courtly  heart. 

All  in  an  oriel  on  tho  summer  side, 
Viueclad,  of  Arthur's    palace   toward  the 
stream, 

They  met,  and  Lancelot    kneeling   utter'd 

Queen, 
Lady,  my  lie-ge,  in  whom  I  Iiave  my  joy, 
1  ake,  xyhat  I  had  not  won  except  for  you, 
^hese^j^ewels,  and  make  me  happy,  making 

An  armlet  for  the  roundest  arm  on  earth. 
Or  necklace  for  a  neck  to  which  the  swan's 
Is  tawnier   than    her  cygnet's :   these    are 

words ; 
Your  beauty  is  your  be  uty,  and  I  sin 
In  speaking,  yet  O  grant  my  worship  of  it 
Words,  as  we  grant  grief  tears.     Such  sin  in 

words 
Perchance,  we  both  can  pardon :  but,  mv 

Queen,  '      ' 

I  hear  of  rumors  flying  thro'  your  court. 
Our  bond,  as  not  the  bond  of  man  and  wife. 
o.noii!d  itavc  m  It  an  absoluler  trust 
lo  make  up  that  defect :  let  rumors  be  : 
When  did  not  rumors  fly?  these,  as  I  trust 
Ihat  you  trust  me  in  your  own  nobleness, 
I  may  not  well  believe  that  you  believe  " 


It  may  be,  I  am  quicker  of  belief 
Our  h^n^  l^el.eve  me  Lancelot  of  the  Lake. 

T  U  ri,'-  "°'"''  .''""^  °'"'^''"  ^'"d  wife. 
1  his  good  is  in  It,  whatsoe'er  of  ill, 
it  can  be  broken  easii'i-.     I  for  you 

won  ^  ^^'"'  ^^^^  ^°^^  ^"P*'*  ^"^ 

1'a\aI  r*"""?  j^^"" '"  '"y  heart  of  hearts 
ni-^lr^"^''''^^,  "?'''"■     '^hat  are  these  ? 
Diamonds  for  me  !  they  had  been  thrice  their 

worth 
Being  your  gift,  had  you  not  lost  your  own. 
lo  loyal  hearts  the  value  of  all  gifts 
Must  vary  as  the  giver's.     Not  for  me  I 
Vox  her  I  for  your  new  fancy.    Only  this 
Orant  me,  I  pray  you  :  have  your  joys  apart 
I  doubt  not  that  however  changed,  y^ou  keep 

W.?w^'l.°'^''*'^"^8""f"'=  and  myself 
Would  shun  to  break  thoi=e  bounds  ofcourf  esy 
In  which  as  Arthur's  queen  1  move  and  rule  : 

A  St rZi  'P^^.''  '"y,"""d. .  An  end  to  this ! 
A  strange  one  !  yet  I  take  it  with  Amen. 

nio^Jl^  ^°"'  t'^t  "y  diamonds  to  her  pearls ; 
Deck  her  with  these  ;  tell  her,  she  shines  me 

down  : 
An  armlet  for  an  arm  to  which  the  Queen's 
Is  haggard,  or  a  necklace  for  a  neck 
O  as  much  lairer-as  a  faith  once  fair 
Was  richer  than  these  diamonds -hers  not 

mine  — 

Nay,  by  the  mother  of  our  Lord  himself, 

^l    TS''  '""i.^'  '"'"^  "O"' '°  work  my  will  - 
bhe  shall  not  have  them." 

AnH    f »,,„.  .1  ^^Vn-^%  which  she  seized, 

heat  *^3s«'"ent  standing  wide  for 

Flung  them,  and    down  they  flash'd,  and 

smote  the  stream. 
Then  from  the  smitten  surface  flash'd  as  it 

were. 
Diamonds  to  meet  them,  and  thevpast  away. 
Ihen  while  Sir  Lancelot  leant,  inhalf  disgust 
At  love,  life,  all  things,  on  the  window  ledge. 
Close  underneath  his  eyes,  and  right  across 
Where  these  had  fallen,  slowly  past  the  barge 
Whereon  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat  '' 

l^ay  smiiing,  like  a  star  in  blackest  night. 

But  the  wild  Queen,  who  saw  not,  burst 
away  '  ""'•' 

On  T^°?L'""'i  "'*"J"  ^"^^^  '  «"d  the  barge 
On  to  the  palace-doorway  sliding,  pausel 
Ihere  two  stood  arm'd,  and  kepi  the  door; 
to  whom.  ' 

All  up  the  marble  stair,  tier  over  tier, 

'  t'hatask'd""''  "■'"  «^'^'''  ^-x^  'y^' 


half  turned  away,  the 

fl-embowering  vine 

and  cast  tliem  off, 

reon  she  stood  was 

in  one  cold  passive 

Id  aside  the  gems 
ir,  and  replied : 

:ker  of  belief 
incelot  of  the  Lake, 
i  of  man  and  wife, 
oe'er  of  ill, 

I  for  you 

done  despite  and 

'  heart  of  hearts 
r.     What  are  these? 
lad  been  tlirice  their 

not  lost  your  own. 
of  all  gifts 

Not  for  me  I 
icy.     Only  this 
ive  your  joys  apart, 
changed,  you  keep 
Ful  :  and  myself 
:  bounds  of  courtesy 
:n  1  move  and  rule: 
.  _  An  end  to  this! 
:  it  with  Amen, 
londs  to  her  pearls; 
her,  she  shines  me 

'hich  the  Queen's 
ror  a  neck 
ith  once  fair 
imonds  —  hers  not 

'  Lord  himself, 
to  work  my  will  — 

which  she  seized, 
standing  wide  for 

they  flash'd,   and 

rface  flash'd  as  it 

id  they  past  away, 
nit,  in  half  disgust 
the  window  ledge, 
and  right  across 
vly  past  the  barge 
istolat 
)lackesf  night. 

0  saw  not,  burst 

;  and  the  barge 
liding,  paused. 

1  kept  the  door  ; 

over  tier, 
{aped,  and  eyes 


ELAtME. 


(■"Wliati's  it? "but  that  oarsman's  haggard 

A        face, 
s  hard  and  still  as  is  the  face  that  men 
Shape  to  their  fancy's  eye  from  broken  rocks 
On  some  cliff-side,  appall'd  them,  and  thev 
said,  ' 

"  He  is  enchanted,  cannot  speak  —  and  she. 
Look  how  she  sleeps  — the  Fairy  Queen,  so 
fair  I  ^  -t         . 

Yea,  but  how  pale  I  what  are  they?  flesh  and 

blood  ? 
Or  come  to  take  the  King  to  fairy  land? 
For  some  do  hold  our  Arthur  cannot  die 
But  that  he  passes  into  fairy  land."         ' 

While  thus  they  babbled  of  the  King,  the 

King 
Came   girt   with  knights  :  then  turn'd  the 

tongueless  man 
From  the  half-face  to  the  full  eye,  and  rose 
And  pointed  to  the  damsel,  and  the  doors, 
bo,  Arthur  bade  the  meek  Sir  Percivale 
And  pure  Sir  Galahad  to  uplift  the  maid  ; 
Ana  reverently  they  bore  her  into  hall. 
1  tien  came  the  fine  Gawain  and  wonder'd  at 

her, 
And  Lancelot  later  came  and  mused  at  her. 
At  last  the  Queen  herself  and  pitied  her  : 
«ut  Arthur  spied  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
btoopt,  took,  brake  seal,  and  read  \. ;  this 
was  all : 


Most  noble  lord,  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake. 
I,  someiime  call'd  the  maid  of  Astolat, 
Lome,  for  you  left  me  taking  no  farewell. 
Hither,  to  take  my  last  farewell  of  you 
1  loved  you,  and  my  love  had  no  return. 
And  therefore  my  true  love  has  been  mv 

death. 
And  therefore  to  our  lady  Guinevere 
And  to  all  other  ladies,  I  make  moan, 
gray  for  my  soul,  and  yield  me  burial, 
i'ray  for  my  soul  thou  too,  Sir  Lancelot. 
As  thou  art  a  knight  peerless." 

«   J         .     ,  ,.  Thus  he  read, 

And  ever  in  the  readings  lords  and  dames 
Wept,  lookin>?  often  from  his  face  who  read 
lo  hers  which  lay  so  silent,  and  at  times, 
bo  touch'd  were  they,  half-thinking  that  her 

lips. 
Who  had  devised  the  letter,  moved  again. 

<•  m''?  'i^^•'y  ^^°y-\  ^''"  Lancelot  to  them  all : 
Knnl  .1  'T  '^u-'""''  ^"'^  =»"  ye  that  hear. 
Know  tha    fSr  this  most  gentle  maiden's 

death 
Right  heavy  am  I  ■  for  good  she  was  and  true, 
«ut  loved  me  with  a  love  beyond  all  love 
In  women  whomsoever  I  have  known. 
Vet  to  be  loved  makes  not  to  love  again  • 
XMot  at  my  years,  however  it  hold  in  youth. 
1  svvc^r  L-y  truth  and  knighthood  that  I  cave 
No  cause,  not  willingly,  for  such  a  love  : 
10  this  I  call  my  friends  in  testimony. 
Her  brethren,  and  her  father,  who  himself 
Besought  me  to  be  plain  and  blunt,  and  use, 
lo  break  her  passion,  some  discourtesy 
Against  my  nature  :  what  I  could,  I  did. 


I  left  her  and  I  bade  her  no  farewell. 

died      ^^^""  '""^  ''*'"*^'  *°"''*  hav« 
I  might  havr  put  my  wits  to  some  rough  use 
And  help'd  her  from  herself"  ^         ' 

/•c-         ,  ,         Tlien  said  the  Queen 

(Sea  was  her  wrath,  yet  working  after  storm). 
You  might  at  least  have  done  her  so  much 
„  .      grace, 

'°dlth^'^°"'^  ''*''*  ''*'P'^  ''"  '"'■°™  her 

"*  "'fclf  '''*  ''"'^'  "'^'''  *y"  ""'*  *"^  hers 
He  adding, 

«:,„»  ♦!,  /I^"o^"'.^^e  ^°"'d  "°'  be  content 
Save  that  I  wedded  her.  which  could  not  be 
Ihen  might  she  follow  me  thro'  the  world, 

she  ask  d  ; 
It  could  not  be      I  told  her  that  her  love 

down  °''  ^°""''  '^""^'^  ''"''«« 

To  rise  hereafter  in  a  stiller  flame 
loward    one    more  worthy    of  her  — then 

would  I, 
More  specially  were  he,  she  wedded,  poor, 
i-state  them  with  large  land  and  territory 
In  mine  own  realm  beyond  the  narrow  seas. 
To  keep   them  in  all  joyance  :  more  than 

tins 

I  could  not ;  this  she  would  not,  and  she 
died. 


He  pausing,   Arthur   answer'd,   "  O    my 
knight,  ' 

It  will  be  to  your  worship,  as  my  knight. 
And  mine,  as  head  of  all  our  Table  Round, 
lo  see  that  she  be  buried  worshipfuUy." 

So  toward  that  shrine  which  then  in  all  the 
realm 
Was  richest  Arthur  leading,  slowly  went 
I  he  mnrshall'd  order  of  their  Table  Round, 
And  L.incelot  sad  beyond  his  wont,  to  see 
1  he  maiden  buried,  net  as  one  unknown, 
Nor  meanly,  but  with  gorgeous  obsequies. 
And  mass,  and  rolling  music,  like  a  Queen. 
And  when  the  knights  had  laid  her  comely 
head  •' 

Low  in  the  dusi  „.    .alf-forgotten  kings, 
Ihen  Arthur  spake  among  them,  "Let  her 

tomb 
Be  costly  and  her  image  thereupon. 
And  let  the  shield  of  Lancelot  at  her  feet 
Be  carven,  and  her  lily  in  her  hand 
And  let  the  story  of  her  dolorous  voyage 
For  all  true  hearts  be  blazon'd  on  her  tomb 
In    letters   gold    and    azure  1 "  which  was 

wrought 
Thereafter ;   but  when  now  the  lords  and 

dames 
And  people,  from  the  high  dnor  streamins 
brake  "' 

Disorderly,  as  homeward  each,  the  Queen, 
Who  mark'd  Sir  Lancelot  wl>ere  he  moved 

apart, 
Drew  near,  and  sigh'd  in  passing  "  Lancelot, 
iMirgive  me  ;  mine  was  jealousy  in  love  " 
He  answer'd  with  his  eyes  upon  the  ground, 


364 


ill 


GUINEVERE. 


"That  is  love's  curse;  pass  on,  tri"  Queen. 

forpiven." 
But  Arthur  who  beheld  his  cloudy  brows 
Approach'd  him,  and  with  full  affection  flune 
One  arm  about  his  neck,  and  spake  and 

said : 

"  Lancelot,  my  Lancelot,  thou  in  whom  I 
have 
Most  joy  and  most  affiance,  for  I  know 
What  thou  hast  been  in  battle  by  my  side 
And  many  a  time  have  watch'd  thee  at  the 
tilt 

Strike  dovyn  the  lusty  and    long-practised 
knight,  I 

And  let  the  younger  and  unskill'd  go  by 
lo  win  his  honor  and  to  make  his  name. 
And  loved  thy  courtesies  and  thee,  a  man 
Made  to  be  loved;  — but  now  I  would  to 

Ood, 
For  the  wild  people  say  wild  things  of  thee. 
Thou    couldst    have    loved    this    maiden 

shaped,  it  seems. 
By  God  for  thee  alone,  and  from  her  face, 
If  one  may  judge  the  living  by  the  dead, 
iJelicately  pure  and  marvellously  fair. 
Who  might  have  brought  thee,  now  a  lonely 

man  ' 

Wifeless  and  heirless,  noble  issue,  sons 
Born  to  the  glory  of  thy  name  and  fame. 

Like"       ^''**'  ^'"^  Lancelot  of  the 


Then  answer'd  Lancelot,  "  Fair  she  was, 
my  King,  ' 

Pure,  as  you  ever  wish  your  knights  to  be. 
10  ooubt  her  fairness  were  to  want  an  eye, 
10    doubt   her    pureness    were  to  want  a 

heart,  — 
Yea,  to  be  loved,  if  what  is  worthy  love 
Could  bind  him,  but  free  love  will  not  be 
bound." 


"  Free  love,  so  bound,  were  freest,"  said 
the  King. 
A  ^f-  '°ve  be  free  ;  free  love  is  for  the  beat  : 
And,  after  heaven,  on  our  dull  side  of  death. 
What  should  be  best,  if  not  so  pure  a  love 
Clothed  m  so  pure  a  loveliness?  yet  thee 
She  fail  d  to  bind,  tho'  being,  as  I  think. 
Unbound  as  yet,  and  gentle,  as  I  know." 

And  Lancelot  answer'd  nothing,  but  he 

Ar.d  at  the  inrunning  of  a  little  brook 
bat  by  the  river  in  a  cove  and  watch'd 
Ihe  high  reed  wave,  and  lifted  up  his  eyes 

^dow       ^""^^  *'^^'  brought  her  moving 
Far-off,  a  blot  upon  the  stream,  and  said 
Low  in  himself,    "Ah   simple   heart   and 

sweet. 
You  loved  me,  d.-imsci,  surely  with  a  lore 
I'ar  tenderer  than  my  Queen's.     Pray  for 

thy  soul  ?  ^ 

Ay,    that   will    I.     Farewell  too  — now  at 

last  — 
Farewell,  fair  lily.    '  Jealousy  in  love '  ? 


Not  rather  dead  love's  harsh  heir,  jealous 

pride?  ■* 

Queen,  if  I  grant  the  jealousy  as  of  love 
"famr"*"  '^'■^^*^*"*  '"^^'^  '°''  "ame  and 

?»?.^^''j-j*.i'  "5?."^'  o*"  a  'ove  that  wanes? 
Why  did  the  King  dwell  on  my  name  to  me ' 

reproach""*    '''^'""  ™^'  ^^'^'ng  a 
Lancelot,  whom  the  Lady  of  the  lake 
Stole  from  his  mother -as  the  story  runs- 
bhe  chanted  snatches  of  mvsterious  sone 
Sh!ril°M"'°  winding  waters,  eve  and  i^om 
She  kiss  d  me  saying  thou  art  fair,  my  child, 
As  a  king's  son,  and  often  in  her  arms 
btie  bare  me,  pacing  on  the  dusky  mere. 
Would  she  had  drown'd  me  in  it.  where'er  it 

be  I 
For  what  am  I  ?  what  profits  me  my  name 
Of  greatest  knight  ?  I  fought  for  it,  and  have 

Pleasure  to  have  it,  none  ;  to  lose  it,  pain  : 
Now  grown  a  part  of  me  :  but  what  use  in  it  ? 
10    make  men  worse  by  making  my  sin 

known  ?  o      j 

Or  sin  seen  less,  the  sinner  seeming  great? 
Alas  for  Arthur's  greatest  knieht,  a  man 
Not  after  Arthur^  heart!    I   needs   must 

break 
These  bonds  that  so  defame  me  :  not  without 
She  wills  It :  would  I,  if  she  will'd  it  ?  nay. 
Who  knows?  but  if  I  would  not.  then  may 

God,  •' 

I  praj;  him,  send  a  sudden  Angel  down 
I  o  seize  me  by  the  hair  and  bear  me  far. 
And  fling  me  deep  in  that  forgotten  mere. 
Among  the  tumbled  fragments  of  the  hills  " 


So  groan 'd  Sir  Lancelot  in  remtjrseful  pain. 
Not  knowing  he  should  die  a  holy  man.       ' 

GUINEVERE. 

Queen  Guinevere  had  fled  the  court,  and 

sat 
There  in  the  holy  house  at  Almesbury 
W-eeping,  none  with  her  save  a  little  maid, 
A  novice  :  one  low  li^ht  betwixt  them  burn'd 
Biurr  d  by  the  creeping  mist,  for  all  abroad, 
lieneath  a  moon  unseen  albeit  at  full 
Ihe  white  mist,  like  a  face-cloth  to  the  face, 
Clung  to  the  dead  earth,  and  the  land  was 
still. 

s;J^M  ^'"'f  'l?^  t^  ^^^^  ''^''  ""se  of  flight 
Sir  Modred  ;  he  the  nearest  to  the  Kinc 
His  nephew,  ever  like  a  subtle  beast 
l;ay  couchant  with  his  eyes  upon  the  throne, 

H»  .^-miPi!:'"^'  "^^."''"S  a  chance :  for  this. 
He  chill  d  the  popular  praises  of  the  King, 
With  silent  smiles  of  slow  dispara>">men»  • 
And  tamper'd  with  the  Lords  of  the  White 

Horse, 
Heathen,  the  brood  by  Hengist  left;  and 

sought 
To  make  disruption  in  the  Table  Round 
Ul  Arthur,  and  to  splinter  it  into  feuda 


's  harsh  heir,  jealous 

jealousy  as  of  love, 
It  fear  for  name  and 

a  love  that  wanes  ? 
11  on  my  name  tome? 
imes  me,  seeming  a 

idy  of  the  lake 
-as  the  story  runs  — 
if  mysterious  song 
Abaters,  eve  and  mom 
lou  art  fair,  my  child, 
:en  in  her  arms 
the  dusky  mere. 
I  me  in  it,  where'er  it 

rofits  me  my  name 
)ught  for  it,  and  have 

e  ;  to  lose  it,  pain  : 
:  but  what  use  in  it  ? 
by  making  my  sin 

iner  seeming  great  ? 
3t  knight,  a  man 
irt !    I   needs    must 

ime  me  :  not  without 

she  will'd  it  ?  nay, 

'ould  not,  then  may 

sn  Angel  down 
and  bear  me  far, 
t  forgotten  mere, 
ments  of  the  hills." 

t  in  remurseful  pain, 
lie  a  holy  man. 


£RE. 

fled  the  court,  and 

t  Almesbury 
iave  a  little  maid, 
etwixt  them  burn'd 
list,  for  all  abroad, 
Ibeit  at  full, 
e-cloth  to  the  face, 
and  the  land  was 


her  cause  of  flight 
st  to  the  King, 
ibtle  beast 
s  upon  the  throne, 
chance :  for  this, 
ises  of  the  King, 
disparafienient ; 
)rds  of  the  White 

lengist  left;  and 

Table  Round 
it  into  feuds 


GUINEVERE. 


Serving  his  traitorous  end  ;  and  all  his  aims 
Were  sharpen'd  by  strong  hate  for  Lancelot. 

For  thus  it  chanced  one  morn  when  all  the 
court, 
Green-suiieil,  but  with  plumes  that  raock'd 

the  May, 
Had  been,  their  wont,  a-mayingandretum'd. 
That  Modred  still  in  green,  all  ear  and  eye, 
Climb'd  to  the  high  top  of  the  garden  wall 
To  spy  some  secret  scandal  if  he  might, 
And  saw  the  Queen,  who  sat  betwixt  her  best 
Enid,  and  lissome  Vivien,  of  her  court 
The  wiliest  and  the  worst ;  and  more  than 

this 
He  saw  not,  for  Sir  Lancelot  passing  by 
Spied  where  he  couch'd,  and  as  the  garden- 
er's hand 
Picks  from  the  colewort  a  green  caterpillar. 
So  from  the  high  wall  and  the  flowering  grove 
Of  grasses  Lancelot  pluck'd  him  by  the  heel. 
And  cast  him  as  a  worm  upon  the  way  ; 
But  when  he  knew  the  Prince  tho'  marr'd 

with  dust, 
He,  reverencing  king's  blood  in  a  bad  man. 
Made  such  excuses  as  he  might,  and  these 
Full  knightly  without  scorn  ;  for  in  those  days 
No  knight  of  Arthur's  noblest  dealt  in  scorn; 
But,  if  a  man  were  halt  or  hunch'd,  in  him 
By  those  whom  God  had  made  fuU-limb'd 

and  tall, 
Scorn  was  allow'd  as  part  of  his  defect, 
And  he  was  answer'd  softly  by  the  King 
.    And  all  his  Table.     So  Sir  Lancelot  hoTp 
To  raise  the  Prince,  who  rising  twice  or  thrice 
Full  sharply  smote  his  knees,  and  smiled, 

and  went : 
But,  ever  after,  the  small  violence  done 
Rankled  in  him  and  ruffled  all  his  heart. 
As  the  sharp  wind  that  ruffles  all  day  long 
A  little  bitter  pool  about  a  stone 
On  the  bare  coast. 

„,  .  But  when  Sir  Lancelot  told 

This  matter  to  the  Queen,  at  first  she  laugh'd 
Lightly,  to  think  of  Modred's  dusty  fall, 
Then  shudder'd,  as  the  village  wife  who  cries 
1   shudder,    some   one  steps   across   my 
grave ; " 
Then  laugh'd  again,  but  faintlier,  for  indeed 
She  half-foresaw  that  he,  the  subtle  beast, 
Would  track  her  guilt  until  he  found,  an.i 

hers 
Would  be  forevermore  a  name  of  scorn. 
Henceforward  rarely  could  she  front  in  Hall 
Or  eisewhere,  Modred's  narrow  foxv  face. 
Heart-hiding  smile,  and  i-ray  persistent  eye  : 
Henceforward  too,  the  Powers  that  tend  the 

soul. 
To  help  it  from  the  death  that  cannot  die, 
And  save  it  even  in  extremes,  bei^an 
To  vex  and  plague  her.     Many  a  time  for 

huurs, 
Beside  the  placid  breathings  of  the  King, 
In  the  dead  night,  grim  faces  came  and  wen-. 
Before  her,  or  a  vague  spiritual  fear  — 
Like    to  some  doubtful  noise  of  creaking 

doors. 
Heard  by  the  watcher  in  a  haunted  house, 


205 

That  keeps  the  rust  of  murder  on  the  walls  — 
Held  her  awake  ;  or  if  she  slept,  she  dream'd 
An  awful  dream  ;  for  then  she  seem'd  to  stand 
On  some  vast  plain  before  a  setting  sun, 
And  from  the  sun  there  swiftly  made  at  her 
A  ghastlj  something,  and  its  shadow  flew 
Before   her,    till   it   touch'd   her,  and  she 

turn'd — 
When  lo!  her  own,  that  broadening  from 

her  feet. 
And  blackening,  swallow'd  all  the  land,  and 

in  It 
Far  cities  burnt,  and  with  a  cry  she  woke. 
And  all  this  trouble  did  not  pass  but  grew  ■ 
lill  ev'n  the  clear  face  of  the  guileless  King, 
And  trustful  courtesies  of  household  life. 
Became  her  bane  ;  and  at  the  last  she  said, 
O  Lancelot,  get  thee  hence  to  thine  own 
land. 
For  if  thou  tarry  we  shall  meet  again, 
dr-n       T  ™^^'  ^sain  some  evil  chance 
Will  m^e  the  smouldering  scandal  break 

and  blaze 
Before  the  people,  and  our  lord  the  King." 
And  Lancelot  ever  promised,  but  remain'd. 
And  still  they  met  and  met.    Again  she  said, 
O  Lancelot,  if  thou  love  me  get  thee  hence," 
And  then  they  were  agreed  upon  a  night 
(When  the  good  King  should  not  be  there) 

to  meet 
And  part  forever.     Passion-pale  they  met 
And  greeted  :  hands  in  hands,  and  eye  to  eye. 
Low  on  the  border  of  her  couch  they  sat 
Stammering  and  staring;  it  was  their  last 

hour, 
A    madness    of  farewells.     And    Modred 

brought 
His  creatures  to  the  basement  of  the  tower 
For  testimony  ;  and  crying  with  full  voice, 
Iraitor,  come  out,  ye  are  trapt  at  last," 
aroused 
Lancelot,  who  rushing  outward  lion-like 
Leapt  on  him,  and  hurl'd  him  headlong,  and 

he  fell 
Stunn'd,  and  his  creatures  took  and  bare  him 

off 
And  all  was  still :  then  she,  "  The  end  is 

come 
And  I  am  shamed  forever";  and  he  said, 
'  Mine  be  the  shame  ;  mine  was  the  sin  ;  but 

rise. 
And  fly  to  my  strong  castle  overseas  ; 
■I  here  will  I  hide  thee,  till  my  life  shall  end, 
Ihere  hold  thee  with  my  life  against  the 

world." 
She  answer'd,  "Lancelot,  wilt  thou  hold  me 

so  ? 
Nay  friend,  for  we  have  taken  oui'  farewells. 
Woilld  God,  that  thou  couldst  hide  me  from 

myself! 
Mine  is  the  .shame,  for  I  was  wife,  and  thou 
Unwedded  :  yet  rise  now,  and  let  us  fly. 
For  I  will  draw  .ne  into  sanctuary. 
And  bide  my  doom."    So  Lancelot  got  her 

horse, 
Set  her  thereon,  and  mounted  on  his  own, 
And  then  they  rode  to  the  divided  way, 
There  kiss'd,  and  parted  weeping  :  for  he  past 


306 


GUINEVERE. 


Love-Ioyal  to  the  least  wish  of  the  Queen, 
Back  to  his  land  ;  but  she  to  Almesbury 
FJed  all  night  long  by  glimmering  waste  and 

weald, 
And  heard  the  Spirits  of  the  waste  and  weald 
Moan  as  she  fled,  or  thought  she  heard  them 

moan  : 
And  in  herself  she  moan'd,  "  Too  late,  too 

late  1  " 
Till  in  the  cold  wind  that  foreruns  the  morn. 
A  blot  m  heaven,  the  Raven,  flying  high, 
Croak  d,  and  she  thought,  "  He  spies  a  field 

of  death  ; 
For  now  the  heathen  of  the  Northern  Sea, 
Lured  by  the  crimes  and  frailties  of  the  court, 
Uegin  to  slay  the  folk,  and  spoil  the  land." 

And  when  she  came  to  Almesbury  she 
spake 
There  to  the  nuns,  and  said,  "  Mine  enemies 
Pursue  me,  but,  O  peaceful  Sisterhood, 
Receive,  and  yield  me  sanctuary,  x^r  ask 
Her  name,  to  whom  ye  yield  it,  till  her  time 
lo  tell  you"  :  and  her  beauty,  grace,  and 

power 
Wrought  as  a  charm  upon  them,  and  they 

spared 
To  ask  it. 

So  the  stately  Queen  abode 
J  or  many  a  week,  unknown,  among  the  nuns; 
Nor  with  them  mix'd,  nor  told  her  name,  nor 

sought. 
Wrapt  in  her  grief,  for  housel  or  for  shrift, 
liut  communed  only  with  the  little  maid, 
Who  pleased  her  with  a  babbling  heedless- 
ness 
Which  often  lured  her  from  herself ;  but  now. 
This  night,  a  rumor  wildly  blown  about 
Came,  that   Sir  Modred  had   usurp'd  the 

realm. 
And  leagued  him  with  the  heathen,  while  the 

King 
Was  waging  war  on   Lancelot :    then  she 

thought, 
"With  what  a  hate  the  people  and  the  King 
Must  hate  me,"  and  bow'd  down  upon  her 

hands 
Silent,  until  the  little  maid,  who  brook'd 
No  silence,   brake  it,  uttering  "  Late  I   so 

late  I 
What  hour,  I  wonder,  now?  "  and  when  she 

drew 
No  answer,  by  and  by  began  to  hum 
An  air  the  nuns  had  taught  her ;  "  Late,  so 

late  !  " 
Which  when  she  heard,  the  Queen  look'd 
^^  up,  and  said, 

P  maiden,  if  indeed  you  list  to  sing, 
aing,  and  unbind  my  heart  that  I  may  weep." 
Whereat  full  willingly  sang  the  little  maid. 

"  Late,  late,  so  late  I  and  dark  the  night 
and  chill  ! 
Late,  late,  so  late  I  but  we  can  enter  still, 
loo  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

"No  liplu  had  we  :  for  that  we  do  repent; 
And  learning  this,  the  bridegroom  will  relent. 
loo  late,  too  late  I  ye  cannot  enter  now. 


"  No  light :  so  late  1  and  dark  and  chill  the 
night  I 
O  let  us  in,  that  we  may  find  the  light  I 
100  late,  too  late  I  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

"  Have  we  not  heard  the  bridegroom  is  so 
sv.eet  ? 

0  let  us  in,  tho'  late,  to  kiss  his  feet  I 
No,  no,  too  late  1  ye  cannot  enter  now." 

So  sang  the  novice,  while  full  passionately. 
Her  head  upon  her  hands,  remembering 
Her  thought  when  first  she  came,  wept  the 

sad  Queen. 
Then  said  the  little  novice  prattling  to  her  : 

"O  pray  you,  noble  lady,  weep  no  more  ; 
But  le;  my  words,  the  words  of  one  so  small, 
Who  knowing  nothing  knows  but  to  obey, 
And  It  I  do  not  there  is  penance  given -- 
Comfort  your  sorrows  ;  for  they  do  not  flow 
!•  rom  evil  done  ;  right  sure  am  I  of  that 
Wlio  see  your  tender  grace  and  stateliness 
Kut  weigh  vour  sorrows  with  our  lord  the 

King's, 
And  weighing  find  them  less  ;  for  gone  is  he 

1  o  wage  grim  war  against  Sir  Lancelot  there 
Round  that  strong  castle  where  he  holds  the 

Queen  ; 
And  Modred  whom  he  left  in  charge  of  all, 
The  traitor  —  Ah  sweet  lady,  the  King's  grief 
tor  his  own  self,  and  his  own  Queen,  and 

realm. 
Must  needs  be  thrice  as  great  as  any  of  ours. 
iox  nie,  1  thank  Uie  saints  I  am  not  great. 
i  or  if  there  ever  come  a  grief  to  me 
I '  y  my  cry  in  silence,  and  have  done  : 
None  knows  it,  and  my  tears  have  bioueht 

me  good. 
But  even  were  the  griefs  of  little  ones 
As  great  as  those  of  great  ones,  yet  this  grief 
Is  added  to  the  griefs  the  great  must  bear, 
1  hat  howsoever  much  they  may  desire 
Silence,  they  cannot  weep  behind  a  cloud  : 
As  even  here  they  talk  at  Almesbury 
About  the  good  King  and  his  wicked  Queen, 
And  were  I  such  a  King  with  such  a  Queen, 
W  ell  might  I  wish  to  veil  her  wickedness. 
But  were  I  such  a  King,  it  could  not  be." 

Then  to  her  own  sad  heart  mutter'd  the 
Queen, 
"  Will  the  child  kill  me  with  her  innocent 

talk?" 
But  openly  she  answer'd,  "  Must  not  I,  - 
If  this  false  traitor  have  displaced  his  lord. 
Grieve  with   the  common  grief  of  all  the 
realm?" 


Yea,"  said  the  maid,  "  this  is  all  woman's 

That  she  is  woman,  whose  disloyal  life 
Hath  wrought  confusion  in  the  Table  Round 
Which  good  King  Arthur  founded,  years  ago, 
With  signs  and  miracles  and  wonders,  there 
At  Camelot,  ere  the  coming  of  the  Queen  " 


{    f 


and  dark  and  chill  the 

ay  find  the  light  I 
cannot  enter  now. 

d  the  bridegroom  is  so 

0  kiss  his  feet  I 
annot  enter  now." 

A'hile  full  passionately, 
nds,  remembering 
it  she  came,  wept  the 

vice  prattling  to  her : 

lady,  weep  no  more  ; 
words  of  one  so  small, 
knows  but  to  obey, 
s  penance  given  — 
for  they  do  not  flow 
sure  am  I  of  that, 
race  and  stateliness. 
vs  with  our  lord  the 

n  less  ;  for  gone  is  he 
ist  Sir  Lancelot  there, 
te  where  he  holds  the 

left  in  charge  of  all, 
lady,  the  King's  grief 
his  own  Queen,  and 

great  as  any  of  ours. 
Its  I  am  not  great. 
» grief  to  me 
md  have  done : 
t  tears  have  brought 

i  of  little  ones 
It  ones,  yet  this  grief 
e  great  must  bear, 
hey  may  desire 
;p  behind  a  cloud  : 
t  Almesbury 
d  his  wicked  Queen, 
with  such  a  Queen, 

1  her  wickedness, 
it  could  not  be." 

heart  mutter'd  the 

with  her  innocent 

"  Must  not  I, 
displaced  his  lord, 
)n  grief  of  all  the 


'  this  is  all  woman's 

e  disloyal  life 
n  the  Table  Round 
founded,  years  ago, 
nd  wonders,  there 
igof  the  Queen." 


Then^thought  the  Queen  within  herself 

"^'Vate!''"'^  ^'"  '"^  «i'J>  l^-"  foolish 
But  openly  she  spake  and  said  to  her, 
U  little  mnid,  shut  m  by  nunnery  walls 

Ro"und       ''"°^  °^  Kings ?nd  Tables  , 
Or  what  of  signs  and  wonders,  but  the  siens 
And  simple  miracles  of  thy  nunnery?"    *^ 


CUINEVERB. 


aoj 


"  vl,   K  .  r  ',''*  '""*  ."°^'=«  garrulously : 
aL  ^    'U  ^  ■'""'^J  "'"^ '«"''  was  full  of  signs 
And  wonders  ere  the  coming  of  the  Queen 
So  said  my  father,  and  himself  was  kniglu 
aI^^  K''«^'  ^  «'^1«:  -  at  the  founding  of  i   • 
And  rode  thereto  from  Lyonnesse,  and  he 

said 
That  as  he  rode,  an  hour  or  maybe  twain 
After  the  sunset,  down  the  coast,  he  heard 
^""^t'heie""'  """^  *"*  P^"'"'*  and  turning- 

Fl'rh°"'?i,"'''J°"'''y  <=°»**  "f  Lyonnesse, 
And  wT.h''/  '^fi'^""-?.'"  "Pon  his  head? 
H.  «     .K  ^'^^  sea  light  about  his  feet, 
fl'ame'"""  "'^  '*^'"  headland 

InH?  'T^H  "^"^  '^'^'^  "f  the  west : 
And  in  the  light  the  white  mermaiden  swam 
And  strong  man-breasted  things  stood  from ' 

And  sent  a  deep  sea-voice  thro'  all  the  land 
lo  which  the  little  elves  of  chasm  and  deft  ' 
si  IIh  ?rf  •.k'°""'""K  like  a  distant  ho?n 
So  said  my  father --yea  and  furthermore, 

woods?^'  "   ''""  P*''  ^^^  '^"n'lit 

fvimri'^  ^■^^''^^  *'''*''  *P'"'«  "lad  with  joy 
IW  eh     r^,  '^°"'"u°"  ?  'all  wayside  flower, 
shakes  '''""'   '*  "'^  "^'^''e 

When  three  gray  linnets  wrangle  for  the  seed  • 
Th^  fl  '"i  '  ■  '=^*"  "S^on  before  his  horse  ' 
Ihe  flickering  fairy-circle  wheel'd  and  broke 

^'"^broke  '^  ^^'''''  ='"'*  *''e^'d  and 

Ife''"''  »"*•'« ''"d  was  full  of  life. 
A  wreath  of  airy  dancers  hand-in-hand 
An)!"^  ^°""d  the  lighted  lantern  of  the  hall  • 
And  in  the  hall  itself  was  such  a  feast  ' 

As  never  man  had  dream'd  :  for  every  knieht 
Had  whatsoever  meat  he  long'd  for  senr^d 
Down  In  o"""^t,"  ■  '•"^  «^«"  «^  h^^M 

fe   th^'wt'eTa^^'Lr Llfd'"'"^^  °"  '^^""^ 
„e„     ^  ran.  so  glad  were  spirits  and 

Before  the  coming  of  the  sinful  Queen." 


To  whom  the  novice  garrulously  again  • 
vZf  •  °"''  '  ^'T'^  •  of  whom  my  father  said 
Fu  1  many  a  noble  war-song  had  he  sune 
Ev  n  ,n  the  presence  of  an  Inemy's  fleet 
Between  the  steep  cliff  and  the  coming  wave  • 

Had  ^f-."^.  V'y'''  ^'y  "f  "'"«-'  and  defth        ' 
Had  chanted  on  the  smoky  mountain-ton^ 
When  round  him  bent  the  spirTts  ofThlTnis 

Sane  Anh^ur^l'^'I " ''"''  "^»'  "'«ht  the  bard 
bang  Art^hurs  glonous  wars,  and  sang  the 

^'  "'IS'  "'°'''  '•''*"  "='"•  »"d  rail'd  at 

For^th^"'''  ^'"^  "^«  '■a'^«  *on  of  Gorlols  • 
For  therejas  no  man  knew  from  whence  ho 

^uf^^"  '.f^P^'*'  ^hen  the  lone  wave  broke 
All  down^the  thundering  shores  of  Bude  and 

?h!DV"'i  ^  ^^r  ''s  «'■"  as  heaven,  and  then 
Of  dark  Dun'rff '^'^K^  child  upon  the  sands 
aIa^T.       ^^M  ^y  'he  Cornish  sea  : 
Tm  1  .  h7^?  ^?^'''  ■  ^"^  'hey  foster'd  him 
AnH   L/i  ™'"''''' '''?'  approven  king  : 
And  that  his  grave  should  be  a  mysterv 
From  all  men  like  his  birth;  and  could  he  find 
A  woman  in  her  womanhood  as  great 
As  he  was  in  his  manhood,  then,\e  sang, 

worid"^'  ""^'''  ^'^^"Se  'he 

^"'  ^hte'^allr'"'  ^"'  ''''''  ^"^  -"^'^ 
But  tha^they  stay'd  him  up;  nor  would  he 

His  vision  ;  but  what  doubt  that  he  foresaw 
Ihis  evil  work  of  Lancelot  and  the  Quee„T" 


^•""bitte^rlvf  *'"'  ^"""'  '"'■^    somewhat 

"Were^they'soglad?  ill  prophets  were  they 

Spirits  and  men :  could  none  of  them  foresee 

And     '"  'P  ^'^^  '■^'h"  wi'h  his  signs        ' 

^°alm.-5  *''"*  ^  ^'^'•^   "P""  'he 


^'''seteSn."''  ^"""'  "  ^°  '  ""'y  h»^e 
Our  simple-seem'ing  Abbess  and  her  nuns 
To  play  upon  me."  and  bow'd  her  head  .lor 

Sp3KC. 

^''"'hands.'    ""^'"^   *='^'"^'  *'"'  "='»^P'd 
&.L°"  ^h  °'^"  E=>rrulity  garrulously. 

L|u"e   """'  """"''^ "''""''  her  gadding 
Full  often,  "And,  sweet  lady,  if  I  seem 
1  o  vex  an  ear  too  sad  to  listed  to  me? 
WhTd,"  m!  ^'  *"h  prattling  and  the  tales 
Which  my  good  father  told  me,  check  me 

nf°niM.T  ^^^"'^  my  father's  memory,  one 
Of  nobles   manners,  tho'  himself  would  say 

Killed    n^^'  ??.''  ""=  "°^'"^'  '•  «"d  he  diedf 
bark!        '  """  "*""•  ^''^  summers 

And  nni"\ '  '^ «  "'"?"'*"  ^'ho  remain, 
And  of  the  two  first-famed  for  courtesy- 
And  pray  you  check  me  if  I  ask  amiss  - 

''move°d''  ^^'^^  ^""^  ""'''"'•  "'•'''*  >"»» 

^"""iing'?"^!  ^»""'°'   <"•  o"«-    lord   the 


teS 


GUINEVERE. 


i  •? 


Tlien  the  pale  Queen  look'd  up  and  an- 
swer'dner, 
"  Sir  Lancelot,  as  became  a  noble  knight, 
Was  gracious  to  all  ladies,  and  the  same 
In  open  battle  or  the  tilting-field 
Forbore  his  own  advantage,  and  these  two 
Were  the  most  nobly-manner'd  men  of  all ; 
For  manners  are  not  idle,  but  the  fruit 
Of  loyal  nature,  and  of  noble  mind." 

"Yea,"  said  the  maid,  "  be  manners  such 
fair  fruit  ? 
Then  Lancelot's  nesds  must  be  a  thousand- 
fold 
Less  noble,  being,  as  all  rumor  runs, 
The  most  disloyal  friend  in  all  the  world." 

To  which  a  mournful  answer  made  the 

Queen, 
"O  closed  about  by  narrowing  nunnery- walls. 
What  knowest  thou  of  the  world,  and  all  its 

lights 
And  shadows,  all  the  wealth  and  all  the  woe  ? 
If  ever  Lancelot,  that  most  noble  knight, 
Were  for  one  hour  less  noble  than  himself. 
Pray  for  him  that  he  scape  the  doom  of  fire. 
And  weep  for    her,  who  drew  him  to  his 

doom." 

"  Yea,"  said  the  little  novice,  "  I  pray  for 
both ; 
But  I  should  all  as  soon  believe  that  his. 
Sir  Lancelot's,  were  as  noble  as  the  King's, 
As  I  could  think,  sweet  lady,  yours  would  be 
Such  as  they  are,  were  you  the  sinful  Queen." 

So  she,  like  many  another  babbler,  hurt 
Whom  she  would  soothe,  and  harm'd  where 

she  would  heal ; 
For  here  a  sudden  flush  of  wrathful  heat 
Fired  all  the  pale  face  of  the  Queen,  who 

cried, 
"  Such  as  thou  art  be  never  maiden  more 
Forever  I  thou  their  tool,  set  on  to  plague 
And  play  upon,  and  harry  me,  petty  spy 
And  traitress."    When  that  storm  of  anger 

brake 
From  Guinevere,  aghast  the  maiden  rose. 
White  as   her  veil,  and  stood    before  the 

Queen 
As  tremulously  as  foam  upon  the  beach 
Stands  in  a  wmd,  ready  to  break  and  fly, 
And  when  the  Queen  had  added  "  Get  thee 

hence  !  " 
Fled  frighted.     Then  that  other  left  alone 
Sigh'd,  and  began  to  gather  heart  again. 
Saying  in  herself,  "The  simple,  fearful  child 
Meant  nothing,  but  my  own  too-fearful  guilt 
Simpler  than  any  child,  betrays  itself 
But  help  me,  heaven,  for  surely  I  repent. 
For  what  is  true  repentance  but  in  thought — 
Not  e'en  in  inmost  thought  to  think  again 
The  sins  that  made  the  past  so  p!e,^Rant  to 

us : 
And  I  have  sworn  never  to  see  him  more. 
To  see  him  more." 

And  e'en  in  saying  this, 
Her  memory  from  old  habit  of  the  mind 


Went  slipping  back  upon  the  golden  days 
In  which  she  saw  him  first,  when  Lancelot 

came. 
Reputed  the  besi  knight  and  goodliest  man. 
Ambassador,  to  load  her  tc  his  lord 
Arthur,  and  led  her  forth,  and  far  ahead 
Of  his  and  her  retinue  moving,  they, 
Rapt  in  sweet  thought,  or  lively,  all  on  love 
And  sport  and  lilts  and  pleasure,  (for  the 

time 
Was   maytime,    ai.d    as    yet    no    sin    was 

dream'd,) 
Rode  under  groves  that  look'd  a  paradise 
Of  blossom,  over  sheets  of  hyacinth 
That  seem'd  the  heavens  upbreaking  thro' 

the  earth, 
And  on  from  hill  to  hill,  and  eery  day 
Beheld  at  noon  in  seme  deliciqus  dale 
The  silk  pavilions  of  Kir.g  Arthur  raised 
For  brief  repast  or  afternoon  lepose 
By  couriers  gone  before  ;  and  on  again. 
Till  yet  once  more  ere  set  of  snji  tliey  saw 
The  Dragon  of  the  great  Pendragon-ship, 
That  crown'd  the  state  pavilion  of  t'^e  King, 
Blaze  by  the  rushing  brook  or  silent  v-<ll. 

But  when  the  Queen  immersed  in  such  a 
trance. 
And  moving  thro'  the  past  unconsciously, 
Came  to  that  point,  when  first  she  saw  the 

King 
Ride  toward  her  from  the  city,  sich'd  to  fird 
Her  journey  done,  glanced  at  him,  thought 

him  cold. 
High,  self-contain'd,    and   pas'^ionless,  not 

like  him, 
"  Not  like  my  Lancelot  "  —  while  she  brood- 
ed thus 
And  grew  half-guilty  in  her  thoughts  again, 
There  rode  an  armed  warrior  to  the  doors. 
A  murmuring  whisper  thro'  the  nunnery  ran, 
Then  on  a  sudden  a  cry,  "The  King."  She 

sat 
Stiff-stricken,   listening ;    but  when   armed 

feet 
Thro'  the  long  gallery  from  the  outer  doors 
Rang  coming,  prone  from  off  her  seat  she 

fell, 
And  grovell'd  with  her  face  against  the  floor  : 
There  with  her  milkwhite  arms  and  shadowy 

hair 
She  made  her  fact  a  darkness  from  the  King  : 
And  in  the  darkness  heard  his  armed  feet 
Pause  by  her  ;   then  came  silence,   then  a 

voice. 
Monotonous  and  hollow  like  a  Ghost's 
Denouncing  judgment,  but  tho'  changed  the 
King's. 

"  Liest  thou  here  so  low,  the  child  of  one 
I  honor'd,  happy,  dead  before  thy  shame  ? 
Well  IS  it  that  no  child  is  born  of  thee. 
."!•"  children  born  of  tiicc  arc  sword  and  fire, 
Red  rum,  and  the  breaking  up  of  laws. 
The  craft  of  kindred  and  the  Godless  hosts 
Of  heathen  swarming  o'er  the  Northern  Sea. 
Whom  I,  while  yet  Sir  Lancelot,  my  right 
arm, 


n  the  golden  days 
first,  wlien  Lancelot 

t  aiic!  poodliest  man, 

•  tc  Ins  lord 

h,  and  far  ahead 

novinp,  they, 

or  lively,  all  on  love 

id  pleasure,  (for  the 

s    yet    no    sin    was 

look'd  a  paradise 
of  hyacinth 
ins  upbreaking  thro' 

,  and  eery  day 
deliciqus  dale 
ir.g  Arthur  raised 
noon  lepose 
;  and  on  again, 
St  of  sii»  tliey  saw 
t  Pendragon-ship, 
lavilion  of  t''e  King, 
)ok  or  silent  v. ■II. 

intmersed  in  such  a 

1st  unconsciously, 
n  first  she  saw  the 

e  city,  sif.h'd  to  fird 
:ed  at  him,  thought 

nd   pas'jioiiless,  not 

'  — while  she  brood- 

her  thoughts  again, 
rrior  to  the  doors, 
ro'  the  nunnery  ran, 
"The  King. "^  She 

but  when  armed 

3m  the  outer  doors 
m  off  her  seat  she 

ce  against  the  floor  : 
;  arms  and  shadowy 

less  from  the  King  : 
t?  his  armed  feet 
Tie  silence,   then  a 

ike  a  Ghost's 

lit  the'  changed  the 


!,  the  child  of  one 
fore  thy  shame? 
born  of  thee. 
arc  sword  and  fire, 
g  up  of  laws, 
he  Godless  hosts 
the  Northern  Sea. 
Lancelot,  my  right 


The  mightiest  of  my  knights  abode  with  me 
Have  everywhere  about  this  land  of  cS' 
In  twelve  great  battles  ruining  over  hVown 
And  '<nowest  thou  now  from  wTience  I  come 
—  from  him, 

ThT7^^^'''?  u"'"  '^^''  '*'"'  him  :  and  he, 
1  hat  did  not  shun  to  sm.te  me  in  worse  way. 
Had  yet  that  grace  of  courtesy  in  him  left 

vkf^^A   V"■"V•^''^"1.*8«'"^'  "'«  King 
Wfio  made  him  knight :  but  man    i  knieht 
was  slain ;  .  ..  » 

And  many  more,  and  all  his  kith  and  kin 
Uave  to  him,  and  abode  in  his  own  land 
And  many  more  when  Modred  raised  revolt 
,f,'""f  etfu'  of  their  troth  and  fealty,  clave 
lo  Modred,  and  a  remnant  stays  with  me 
And  of  this  remnant  will  I  leave  a  part    ' 
Irue  mer  who  love  me  still,  for  whom  I'live 
I  o  guard  thee  in  the  wild  hour  coming  on 
Lest  but  a  hair  of  this  low  head  be  harm'd. 

death  ^^  guarded  till  my 

Howbeit  I  know,  if  ancient  prophecies 

d"om  °°''  '  "'^'■'^'* '°  "'"'  '">' 

That"nhii°,'  '""'''  ?!  "'■'=  "?"*««'  t°  -n^ 
Fn,  tKV  K    .'"^  ^^''"J^  e''^3''y  care  to  live  ; 
For  thou  hast  spoilt  the  purpose  of  my  life 

Ev^  fn"  ^^'  ^l""  "'l'*^'  ''"'e  while  I'show, 

Relax'H'?t,' if  m"""^"  '"^'  "^'  ^"'^  ^^^^'  '^w 
wi.  finu  ''•?''  "P?"  "»•  »"dthe  ways 

Of  nrn  I'' ":]"'  •"^PIP"'  ^'''^  ^"d  there  a  deed 
Of  prowess  done  redress'd  a  random  wrong. 
But  I  was  irst  of  all  the  kings  who  drew  ^ 
The  knighthood-errant  of  this  realm  and  all 

?r  fl/.?^'  ^°¥^^^I  ""''«'■  ">«'  their  Head, 
Ir.  that  fair  order  of  my  Table  Round, 
-■1  glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men 

AnfK''*..f%"'°l^'  ?■■  '^'^  ""g''ty  world, 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time. 
I  made  them  lay  their  Eands  in  mine  and 
swear  " 

To  reverence  the  King,  as  if  he  were 

their  King!'  ^"'^  ""'''  '""^'^"'^^  »« 
Tn  ^•li"^'''^  "J^^'i^en  and  uphold  the  Christ. 
To  ^^.l^'°^^^  redressing  human  wrongs^    ' 
To  speak  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen  to  it. 
To  ead  sweet  lives  in  purest  chastity, 
An^  r  T  T"^?"  ""'y-  «=l=ave  to  her, 
nnnlT'*""  ^"l  hy  y=^^s  of  noble  deeds. 
Until  they  won  her;  for  indeed  I  knew   ^ 

Than  i?.°h!  '"^-'j*  "^^''^r  under  heaven 
No?  oil„^    r^"*!,"  P^'^'°n  ^°'  a  maid. 
R,?f,^,  I  u-''^^?'^°*^"  'he  base  in  man, 
A  Hrf^i-'^''  thought,  and  amiable  words 
And  courtliness,  and  the  desire  of  fame 

Ani  In'fi"'^  'V^'  ^''^  ^"  that  mal.ela  man 
t.L-  'h:?  th^ye  until  I  wedded  thee  T 
Relieving  "lo  mine  helpmate,  on.-  to  ^4 
My  purpose  and  rejoicing  in  mv'jov  "'''' 
1  hen  came  thy  shameful  sin  with  Lancelot  • 
Then  o'.h  '  '\t  °^  '^"^'^^"^  =*"d  IsoTt :    ' 
kntes,  '"^       '*  ™^  mightiest 

Auddiawmg  foul  ensample  from  fair  names 


lUIN-EVERE. 


2og 


Of^ii  n;^'''2'  *'"  ^^^  'osthsomu  opposite 
\J   nl  ^"^'i  ^"^  destined  did  obtain. 
I^uaH  'J'/r  'p^J.'e  'h.'t  this  life  of  mine 
K"ard  as  God's  high  gift  from  scathe  and 
wrong, 

Not  greatly  care  to  lose;  but  rather  think 
How  sad  a  were  for  Arthur,  should  he  live, 
And  m?rfK"'°'''  ^':,hin  his  lonely  hall       ' 
And  miss  the  wonted  number  of  my  kniKhts 
And  miss  to  hear  high  talk  of  noble  deeds 
As  in  the  golden  days  before  thy  sin 

Of  the  pure  heart,  nor  seem  to  glance  at  thee  > 

Thv  ll^P  ''°^,1"  °^  t:amelot%r  of  Usk      ' 
^hy  shadow  still  would  glide  from  room  to 

And  I  should  evermore  be  vext  with  thee 
In  hanging  robe  or  vacant  ornament, 
ijX'^^i^  footfall  echoing  on  the  stair. 

lord"°''  '  '^°"'''"  "°'  '°^«  thy 

Thy  lord  has  wholly  lost  his  love  for  thee 
I  am  not  made  of  so  slight  elements. 
^hlu".l     '^^''^  J^hee,  woman,  to  thy  shame 
Wh^''  •.k'"  TV^"  ^°«t  "f  public  foes 
Who  either  for  his  own  or  children's  sake. 
To  save  his  blood  from  scandal,  lets  the  wife 
Whom  he  knows  false,  abide  and  rule  the 

house  : 
For  being  thro"  his  cowardice  allow'd 
Her  station,  taken  everywhere  for  pure 
She  like  a  new  disease,  unknown  to  men, 
creeps,  no  precaution  used,  among  the  crowd 

Makes  wicU  lightnings 'of  her  eyes,  and 
ssps 

With'''devil°l  °,«  ^"'"'^'l  '"'^.  ^'''^  'he  pulse 
young       ^''  ''"'^  P°''°"*  half  the 

^"■"''r^ln   I  '^°''''  ^"^  *hat  man  he  that 

reigns  ! 

hean^'"^'^  *'""'  ^"'''^^  '""^  »^hing 
Than  thou  reseated  in  thy  place  of  light. 
The  mockery  of  my  people,  and  their  bane." 

"«  parsed,  and  in  the  pause  she  crept  an 

Nearer,  and  laid  her  hands  about  his  feet. 
*  ar  off  a  solitary  trumpet  blew 

nliijli'l  ^^  *''*  '^°°"  ""*  war-horse 
As  at  a  friend's  voioe,  and  he  spake  again  : 

"  Yet  think  not  that  I  come  to  uree  thv 
crimes,  •' 

I  did  not  come  to  ciirse  thee,  Guinevere, 
1,  whose  vast  pity  almost  makes  me  die 

Mv  nrln^ln'i^^^'"^  ^^^'^  'hy  golden  head, 
My  pride  in  happier  summers,  at  my  feet. 
The  wrath  which  forced  mv  ihn.mht;  ^n  .i.-t 
lierce  law,  '  =    -  - 

OVI  ilffi""."//'"'"",  ^"'^  'he  flaming  death, 

(When  first  I  learnt  thee  hidden  here)  is  past 

The  pang -which  while  1  weigh'd  thy  C 

with  one  ' 

Ma°drm,!'j'  """^J"  ^'^^^  """""'h  in  thee. 
Made  my  tears  bum -is  also  past,  in  part; 


r^' 


aio 


GUINEVERE. 


1     I 


r  f  'i 


And  all  is  past,  the  sin  is  sinn'd,  and  I, 
Lo  I  \  forgive  thee,  as  Eternal  God 
Forgives  :  do  thou  for  thine  own  son!  the  rest. 
But  now  to  take  last  leave  of  all  I  loved  ? 

0  golden  hair,  with  which  I  used  to  play 
Not  knowing  1    O  imperial-moulded  form, 
And  beauty  such  as  never  woman  wore. 
Until  it  came  a  kingdom's  curse  with  thee  — 

1  cannot  touch  ihy  Tips,  they  are  not  mine. 
But  Lancelot's  :   nay,  they  never  were  the 

King's. 
I  cannot  take  thy  hand  ;  that  too  is  flesh, 
And  in  the  flesh  thou  hai^t  sinn'd;  and  mine 

own  flesh, 
Here  looking  down  on  thine  polluted,  cries 
'  I  loathe  thee ' ;  yet  not  less,  O  Guinevere, 
For  I  was  ever  virgin  save  for  thee. 
My  love  thro'  flesh  hath  wrought  into  my  life 
So  far,  that  my  doom  is,  I  love  thee  still. 
Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still. 
Perchance,  and  so  thou  purify  thy  soul. 
And  so  thou  lean  on  our  fair  father  Christ, 
Hereafter  in  that  world  where  all  are  pure 
We  two  may  meet  before  high  God,  and  thou 
Wilt  spring  to  me,  and  claim  me  thine,  and 

know 
I  am  thine  husband  —  not  a  smaller  soul, 
Nor  Lancelot,  nor  another.    Leave  me  that, 
I  charge  thee,  my  last  hope.    Now  must  I 

Hence. 
Thro'  the  thick  night  I  hear  the  trumpet 

blow : 
They  summon  me  their  King  to  lead  mine 

hosts 
Far  down  to  that  great  battle  in  the  west, 
Where  I  must  strike  against  my  sister's  son. 
Leagued  with  the  lords  of  the  White  Horse 

and  knights 
Once  mine,  and  strike  him  dead,  and  meet 

myself 
De.-xth,  or  I  know  not  what  mj-sterious  doom. 
And  thou  remaining  here  wilt  learn   the 

event ; 
But  hither  shall  i  never  come  again. 
Never  lie  by  thy  side,  see  thee  no  more, 
Farewell  I '' 

And  while  she  gtrovell'd  at  his  feet. 
She  felt  the  King's  breath  wander  o'er  her 

neck, 
And,  in  the  darkness  o'er  her  fallen  head, 
Perceived  the  waving  of  his  hands  that  blest. 

Then,  listening  till  those  armed  steps  were 

gone. 
Rose  the  pal)  Queen,  and  in  her  anguish 

found 
The   casement :    "  Peradventure,"   so   she 

thought, 
"  If  I  might  see  his  face,  and  not  be  seen." 
And  lo,  he  sat  on  horseback  at  the  door  I_ 
And  near  him  the  sad  nuns  with  each  a  light 
Stood,  a^d  he  gave  them  charge  about  the 

Oueen 
To  guard  and  foster  her  forevermore. 
And  while  he  spake  to  these  his  helm  was 

lower'd. 
To  which  for  crest  the  goldei  on  clung 

Qf  Britain ;  so  she  did  not  s^^        face, 


Which  then  was  as  an  angel's,  but  she  saw, 
Wet  with  the  mists  and  smitten  by  the  lights. 
The  Dragon  of  the  great  Pendragonship 
Blaze,  making  all  the  night  a  steam  of  fire. 
And  even  then  he  turn'd  ;  and  more  and  more 
The  moony  vapor  rolling  round  the  Kinp, 
Who  seem'd  the  phantom  of  a  Giant  in  it, 
Enwound  him  fold  by  fold, and  made  him  gray 
And  grayer,  till  himself  became  as  mist 
Before  her,  moving  ghostlike  to  his  doom. 

Then  she  stretch'd  out  her  arms  and  tried 
aloud, 
"  O  Arthur  I "  there  her  voice  brake  sud- 
denly. 
Then  — as  a  stream  that  spouting  from  a  cliff 
Fails  in  mid-air,  but  gathering  at  the  base 
Re-makes  iftelf,  and  flashes  down  the  vale- 
Went  on  in  passionate  utterance. 

"Gone— my  lord  I 
Gone  thro'  my  sin  to  slay  and  to  be  slain  I 
And  he  forgave  nic,  and  I  could  not  speak. 
Farewell  ?    I  should  have  answer'd  his  fare- 
well. 
His  mercy  choked  me.    Gone,  my  lord  the 

King, 
My  owii  true  lord  1  how  dare  I  call  him 

mine  ? 
The  shadow  of  another  cleaves  to  me. 
And  makes  me  one  pollution  :  he,  the  King, 
Call'd  me  polluted  :  shall  I  kill  myself? 
What  help  in  that  ?    I  cannot  killmy  sin. 
If  soul  be  soul ;  nor  can  I  kill  my  shame ; 
No,  nor  by  living  can  I  live  it  down. 
The  days  will  grow  to  weeks,  the  weeks  to 

months, 
The  months  will  add  themselves  and  make 

the  years, 
The  years  will  mil  into  the  centuries. 
And  mine  will  ever  be  a  name  of  scorn. 
I  miist  not  dwell  on  that  defeat  of  fame. 
Let  the  world  be  ;  that  is  but  of  the  world. 
What  else?  what  hope?  I  think  there  was  a 

hope. 
Except  he  mock'd  me  when  he  s  ake  of  hope ; 
His  nope  he  call'd  it ;  but  he  ■  ever  mocks. 
For  mockery  is  the  fume  of  litde  hearts. 
And  blessed  be  the  King,  who  hath  forgiven 
My  wickedness  to  him,  and  left  me  hope 
That  in  mine  own  heart  I  can  live  down  sin 
And  be  his  mate  hereafter  in  the  heavens 
Before  high  God.     Ah  great  and  gentle  lord. 
Who  wast,  as  is  tl-.e  conscience  ofa  saint 
Among  his  warring  senses,  to  thy  knights  — 
To  whom  my  false  voluptuous  pride,   that 

took 
Full  easily  all  impressions  from  below. 
Would  not  look    up,   or  half-despised  the 

height 
To  which  I  would  not  or  I  coiild  not  climb  — 
I  thought  I  could  not  breath^n  that  fine  air 
That  pure  severity  of  perfect  light  — 
I  wmitf^H  warn^th  nr.rl  rn!nr  -*-v-h:rh  ^  ^oi^r..'^. 
In  Lancelot  —  now  I  s«e  tliee  what  thou  art, 
Thou  art  the  highest  and  most  human  too. 
Not  Lancelot,  nor  another.     Is  there  none 
Will  tell  the  King  I  love  him  tho'  so  late  ? 
Now  —  «re  he  goes  to  the  great  B4ttl«  ?  none; 


11  angel's,  but  she  saw, 
id  smitten  by  the  liglits, 
reat  Pendragoiishiti 
night  a  steam  of  fire. 
I'd  ;  and  more  and  more 
ling  round  the  Kinp, 
itom  of  a  Giant  in  it, 
fold, and  made  him  gray 
slf  became  as  mist 
liostlike  to  his  doom. 

out  her  arms  and  cried 

her  voice  brake  sud- 

fiat  spouting  from  a  cliff 
gathering  at  the  base 
lashes  down  the  vale— 
s  utterance. 

"Gone  —  my  lord  I 
slay  and  to  be  slain  I 
nd  I  could  not  speak, 
lave  answer'd  his  fare- 

e.    Gone,  my  lord  the 

how  dare  I  call  him 

T  cleaves  to  me, 
)llufion  :  he,  the  King, 
lall  I  kiil  myself? 
[  cannot  kill  my  sin, 
in  I  kill  my  shame ; 
I  live  it  down. 
}  weeks,  the  weeks  to 

themselves  and  make 

)the  centuries, 
a  name  of  scorn, 
at  defeat  of  fame. 
t  is  but  of  the  world. 
?  I  think  there  was  a 

*hen  he  p  ake  of  hope ; 
but  he    ever  mocks, 
ne  of  litiie  hearts, 
ng,  who  hath  forgiven 
,  and  left  me  hope 
rt  I  can  live  down  sin 
fter  in  the  heavens 
great  and  eentle  lord, 
nscience  of  a  saint 
ises,  to  thy  knights  — 
oluptuous  pride,  that 

ons  from  below, 
or  half-d;spised  the 

)r  I  could  not  climb  — 
ireath^n  that  fine  air 
erfect  light  — 
■rAr.r  vvhi-h  I  fbl!-H 

;e  thee  what  thou  art, 
id  most  human  too, 
her.     Is  there  none 
ve  him  tho'  so  late  ? 
he  great  Battle  ?  none; 


'  And  lo,  he  sat  on  horseback  at  the  door  I 
Ahd  near  him  the  sad  nuns  with  each  a  light 
Stood,  and  he  gave  them  charge  about  the  Queen. 


V 


^r 


c/d 


f\ 


ENOCH  ARDEN. 


Myself  must  tell  him  in  that  purer  life 
But  now  It  were  too  daring.     Ah  my  God, 
What  might  I  not  have  made  of  thy  fair 

world, 
Had  I  but  loved  thy  highest  creature  here? 
It  was  my  duty  to  have  loved  the  highest : 
It  surely  was  my  profit  had  I  known  : 
It  would  have  been  my  pleasure  had  I  seen. 
We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we 

see  it, 
Not  Lancelot,  nor  another." 
_,        , ,         ,    ,  .,  .  Here  her  hand 

Orasp  d,  made  her  veil  her  eyes :  she  look'd 

and  saw 
The  novice,  weeping,  suppliant,  and  said  to 

her, 
"Yea,  little  maid,  for  am  /  not  forgiven  ?  " 
Then  glancing  up  beheld  the  holy  nuns 
All  round  her,  weeping ;  and  her  heart  was 
r    _      loosed 

''^H  v"  i*"^""'  *"^  *''*  ^"P'  '''''^  'hese  and  said  : 
Ye  know  me  then,  that  wicked  one,  who 
broke 
The  vast  design  and  purpose  of  the  King. 

0  shut  me  round  with  narrowing  nunnery 

W2JlS| 

Meek    maidens,    from    the    voices   crvine 
'Shame.'  * 

1  must  not  scorn  myself:  he  loves  me  still. 
l«t  no  one  dream  but  that  he  loves  me  still, 
so  let  me,  if  you  do  not  shudder  at  me 
X<or  shun  to  call  me  sister,  dwell  with  you : 


IIS 

I  Wear  black  and  white,  and  be  a  nun  like  you  : 
I  fast  with  your  fasts,  not  feasting  with  your 

i6<lStS  \ 

Grieve  with  your  griefs,  not  grieving  at  your 

But  not  rejoicing  ;  mingle  with  your  rites : 
Pray  and   be  prayed  for;    lie  before  your 

shrines ;  ' 

Do  each  low  office  of  your  holy  house  ; 
Walk  your  dim  cloister,  and  distribute  dole 
lo  poor  sick  people,  richer  in  his  eyes 
Who  ransom'd  us,  and  haler  too  than  I  ; 
And  treat  their  loathsome  hurts  and  heal 

mine  own ; 
And  so  -wear  out  in  almsdeed  and  in  prayer 
Ihe  sombre  close  of  that  voluptuous  day, 
Which  wrought  the  ruin  of  my  lord  the  King." 

She  said :  they  took  her  to  themselves;  and 

she 
Still  hoping,  fearing  "  Is  it  yet  too  late  ?  " 
Dwelt  with  them,  till  in  time  their  Abbess 

died. 
Then  she,  for  her  good  deeds  and  her  pure 

life,  " 

And  for  the  power  of  ministration  in  her, 
And  likewise  for    the    high  rank  she  had 

borne, 
Was  chosen  Abbess,  there,  an  Abbess  lived 
For  three  brief  years,  and  there,  an  Abbess, 
past  ^ 

To  where  beyond  these  voices  there  is  peace. 


ENOCH     ARDEN. 


Long  lines  of  cliff  breaking  have  left  a 
chasm ; 

Brv„!rH"iL'''"'*?'  ^j:*'""*"'  and  yellow  sands  ; 

Beyond,  red  roofs  about  a  narrow  wharf 

In  cluster ;  then  a  moulder'd  church ;  and 

higher 
A  long  street  climbs  to  one  tall-tower'd  mill  • 
A,,d  high  in  heaven  behind  it  a  gray  down   ' 
With  Danish  barrows;  and  a  hazel-wood 
By  autumn  nutters  haunted.  flourisheT     ' 
Green  in  a  cuplike  hollow  of  the  dom,. 

Hereon  this  beach  a  hundred  years  aeo 
Three  ch.  dren  of  three  houses.  Ann^  L« 
i^S  Pp?."'"' ''«le  damsel  in  the  por  *        ' 
AnH  P  "''?  ^^l^  "^^  "''"<=^'«  only  °on. 
Made  o"rnh''/K'''"'  •''•'■°"gh  sailors  lad 
maae  orphan  bv  a  winter  sliip»,r»'-k   H— •-" 

HTrd'^nll'"  T^'\^'^^  '"■"i'ef  of  ,'he"si,o"ie," 
ward  coils  of  cordage,  swarthy  fishing-net& 

AnSh''u°f.''"*'y  "",'''=•  »"''  boats  up-drawn; 
And  built  their  castles  of  dissolving  sand 

And'^fl' •''  'V""  "^."-^"^'d.  or  following  up 
And  flying  the  white  breaker,  daily  left 
Th«  h«le  footprint  daily  wasi,'d  »wa" 


T  Al^TI'"'  E?y^  '^"  '"  beneath  the  cliff: 
Fnnrh  '»'«  i^ildren  play'd  at  kr.oing  house. 

While  Inn V°Vr'  ''^y'-  P'""P  »»>«  "«t, 
vyniie  Ann  e  still  was  mistress  ;  but  at  times 
Enoch  would  hold  possession  for  a  week™ 
inis  IS  my  house  and  this  my  little  wife  " 
"about'"  i**'"^  Philip,  «ti:m  and  Turn 
^''^"mad?*^  quarreird,  Enoch  stronger- 

Was  master:  then  would  Philip,  his  blue 
eyes 

this  ^°"'  ^"°*=h,"  and  at 

AnH  !i"'*  .T''*'  ^""'"^  *"P  '■'"■  company, 
And  pray  them  not  to  quarrel  for  her  »'l. 
^vnd  say  she  would  be  little  wife  to  bothr"' 

An^".V*'''"  *'''  ^'^'^  of  rosy  childhood  past. 

\vt  tt  {'**.T'™«'?  °f  "<■«'«  ascending^suS 
Was  felt  by  either,  either  fixt  his  heart 

But  Ph  iC^'f  ^"'\  ••*"'?,  ^"°^h  «P«''«  his  love. 
SpLmM  l<  A^"^  '"  •^!.'^"«  ■•  and  the  girl 
Seem  d  kindfr  unto  Philip  than  to  h^ ; 


tta 


ENOCH  ARDEN. 


i!fli  ~^  m 


But  the  loved  Enoch  ;  tho'  ghe  knew  it  not, 
And  would  if  ask'd  deny  it.  ,  Enoch  set 
A  purpose  evermore  before  his  eyes, 
To  hoard  all  savings  to  the  uttermost. 
To  purchase  his  own  boat,  and  make  a  home 
For  Annie :  and  so  prosper'd  that  at  last 
A  luckier  or  a  bolder  fisherman, 
A  carefuller  in  peril,  did  not  breathe 
For  leagues  along  that  breaker-beaten  coast 
1  han  Enoch.    Likewise  had  he  served  a  year 
On  board  a  merchantman,  and  made  himself 
Full  sailor ;  and  he  thrice  had  pluck'd  a  life 
From  the  dread  sweep  of  the  down-stream- 
ing seas: 
And  all  men  look'd  upon  him  favorably  : 
And  ere  he  touch'd  his  one-and-twentieth 

May, 
He  purchased  his  own  boat,  and  made  a 

home 
For  Annie,  neat  and  nestlike,  half-way  up 
The  narrow  street  that  clamber'd  toward  the 
mill. 

Then,  on  a  golden  autumn  eventide, 
The  younger  people  making  holiday. 
With  bag  and  sack  and  basket,  great  and 

small. 
Went  nutting  to  the  hazels,  Philip  stav'd 
(His  father  lying  sick  and  needing  hini) 
An  hour  behind;  but  as  he  climb'd  the  hill 
Just  where  the  prone  edge  of  the  wood  becan 
To  feather  toward  the  hollow,  saw  the  pair 
Enoch  and  Annie,  sitting  hand-inhand. 
His  large  gray  eyes  and  sveather-beaten  face 
All-kindled  by  a  still  and  sacred  fire, 
That  burned  as  on  an  altar.     Philip  look'd, 
And  in  their  eyes  and  faces  read  his  doom  ; 
Then,  as  their  faces  drew  together,  groan'd 
And  slipt  aside,  and  like  a  wounded  life 
Crept  down  into  the  hollows  of  the  wood  ; 
There,  while  the  rest  were  loud  with  merry- 
making. 
Had  his  dark  hour  unseen,  and  rose  and  past 
Beanng  a  lifelong  hunger  in  his  heart. 

So  these  were  wed,  and  merrily  rang  the 
bells, 
And  merrily  ran  the   years,  seven    happy 

years, 
Seven  happy  years  of  health  and  compe- 
tence, 
And  mutual  love  and  honorable  toil ; 
With  children  ;   first  a  daughter.      In  him 

woke, 
With  his  first  bsbe's  first  cry,  the  noble  wish 
To  save  all  earnings  to  the  uttermost, 
And  give  his  child  abetter  bringing-up 
Than  his  had  been,  or  hers  ;  a  wish  renew'd, 
When  two  years  after  came  a  boy  to  be 
The  ro.^v  idol  of  her  solitudes, 
While  Enoch  was  abroad  on  wrathful  seas. 
Or  often  jonrneyinEr  landward  ;  fnr  in  truth 
Enoch's  white   horse,  and  Enoch's  ocean- 
spoil 
In  ocean-smelling  osier,  and  his  face, 
Rough-redden'd  with    a    thousand  winter- 

gales, 
Not  only  to  the  market-cross  were  known, 


But  in  the  leafy  lanes  behind  the  down. 
Far  as  the  portal-warding  lion-whclp, 
And  peacock-yewtree  of  the  lonely  Hal], 
Whose  Friday  fare  was  Enoch's  ministering. 

Then  came  a  change,  as  all  things  human 
change. 
Ten  miles  to  northward  of  the  narrow  port 
Open  d  a  larger  haven  :  thither  used 
Enoch  at  times  to  go  by  land  or  sea  ; 
And  once  when  there,  and  clambering  on  a 

mast  " 

In  harbor,  by  mischance  he  slipt  and  fell  : 
A  '','^°,  YJ^s  broken  when  they  lifted  him  ; 
And  while  he  lay  recovering  there,  his  wife 
bore  hiin  another  son,  a  sickly  one : 
Another  hand  crept  too  across  his  trade 
laking  her  bread  and  theirs:  and  on  him 

fell, 
Altho'  a  grave  and  staid  God-fearing  man. 
Yet  lying  thus  inactive,  doubt  and  gloom. 
He  seem'd,  as  in  a  nightmare  of  the  night. 
To  see  his  childem  leading  evermore 
Low  miserable  lives  of  hand-to-ir.outh. 
And  h-r,  he  loved,  a  beggar  :  then  he  pray'd 
bave  them  from  this,  whatever  comes  to 
me." 
And  while  he  pray'd,  the  master  of  that  ship 
Enoch  had  served  in,  hearing  his  mischance, 
Came,  for  he  knew  the  man  and  valued 

him, 
Reporting  of  his  vessel  China-bound, 
And  wanting  yet  a  boatswain.    Would  he  go  ? 
There  yet  were  many  weeks  before  she  sait'd, 
Sail'd  from  this  port.     Would  Enoch  have 

the  place  ? 
And  Enoch  all  at  once  assented  to  it. 
Rejoicing  at  that  answer  to  his  prayer. 

So  now  that  shadow  of  mischance  appear'd 
No  graver  than  as  when  some  little  cloud 
Cuts  off  the  fiery  highway  of  the  sun. 
And  isles  a  light  in  the  ofiing :  yet  the  wife  — 
When  he  was  gone  —  the  children  —  what  to 

do? 
Then    Enoch   lay   long-pondering   on   his 

plans ; 
To  sell  the  boat— and  yet  he  loved  her 

well  — 
How  many  a  rough  sea  had  he  weather'd  in 

her  I 
He  knew  her,  as  a  horseman   knows   his 

horse  — 
And  yet  to  sell  her — then  with  what  she 

brought 
Buy  goods  and  stores  —  set  Annie  forth  in 

trade 
With  all  that  seamen  needed  ortheir  wives— 
So  might  she  ke-p  the  house  while  he  was 

gone. 
Should  he  not  trade  himself  out  yonder?  go 


This  voyscs  mor 

thrice  — 
As  oft  as  needed  —  last,  returning  rich, 
Become  the  master  of  a  larger  craft, 
With  fuller  profits  lead  an  easier  life, 
Have  all  his  pretty  young  ones  educated, 
And  pass  his  days  in  peac^  among  his  own. 


behind  the  down, 
ling  lion-whelp, 
of  the  lonely  Hall, 
is  Enoch's  ininisterbg. 

e,  as  all  things  human 

rd  of  the  narrow  port 

1 :  thither  used 

by  land  or  sea  ; 

,  and  clambering  on  a 

ice  he  slipt  and  fell  : 
len  they  lifted  him  ; 
iverinc  there,  his  wife 
,  a  sickly  one : 
ID  across  his  trade 
d  theirs  :  and  on  him 

lid  God-fearing  man, 
5,  doubt  and  gloom. 
;htmare  of  the  night, 
iding  evermore 
f  hand-to-mouth, 
leggar  :  then  he  pray'd 
s,  whatever  comes  to 

ihe  master  of  that  ship 
bearing  his  mischance, 
the  man  and  valued 

i  China-bound, 
swain.    Would  he  go? 
veeks  before  she  saiT'd, 
Would  Enoch  have 

assented  to  it, 
sr  to  his  prayer, 

of  mischance  appear'd 
:n  some  little  cloud 
vay  of  the  sun, 
offing :  yet  the  wife  — 
he  children  —  what  to 

ig-pondering   on   his 

d  yet  he  loved  her 

had  he  weather'd  in 

orseman    knows   his 

then  with  what  she 

—  set  Annie  forth  in 

eded  or  their  wives — 
house  while  he  was 

iself  out  yonder?  go 
•tt^cc  ?  "Si  tv'ics  cr 

returning  rich, 

larger  craft, 
in  easier  life, 
ie;  ones  educated, 
\c^  among  his  own. 


Tk[^^«  "~^u '"  ^'^  ''^^f  determined  all  • 
Then  moving  homeward  came  on  Annie  Dale 
Nursmg  the  sickly  babe,  her  latest-bo^^    *' 
aTi' -^  she  started  wi-h  a  happy  cry 
Wlfnm'^F'''  ^'^'«,in'"an'  in  his  arms 

linib"  '  ""^   ^"''^^^'^   ^"   hi. 

nfJhlT^  ^t  *"'«'''.!  ^'"^  '■""died  fatherlike 
But  had  no  heart  to  break  his  purposes  ' 
To  Annie,  till  the  morrow,  when  he  spoke. 

Then_first  since  Enoch's  golden  ring  had 

V.Vn'iff^":  A""'^ ,^°"Slit  against  his  will :       I 

Rm  1     v",*].  •"■awl'n?  opposition  she, 

But  manifold  entreatres,  many  a  tear,  ' 

(Sure  that  all  evil  would  come  out  of  it) 
For°h1^,  I  h'm.  supplicating,  if  he  cared 
For  her  or  his  dear  children,  not  to  go. 
He  not  for  his  own  self  caring  but  her. 
Her  and  her  children,  let  her  plead  in  Vain 
So  grieving  held  his  will,  and  bore  i  Vhr'V' 


^J^odff  A/tDi:M 


a<3 

Heard^and  not  heard  Wm;   as  the  viUage 

Who  sets  her  pitcher  underneath  the  sorinir 
Musing  on  him  that  used  to  fil  it  for  her  ® 
Hears  and  not  hears,  and  lets  it  overflow 

At  length  .bespoke,  "O  Enoch,  you  are 

ThiTl°if  yf"'-*'sdom  well  know  I 
Xhat  I  shall  look  upon  your  face  no  more.' 


For  Enoch  parted  with  his  old  sr 
Bought  Annie  goods  and  stores,  a    .  .=..  ■.,!. 
hand  ■  ^..    .a 

w!,?'  I'^li-''  "i"*  streetward  sitting-room 
With  shelf  and  corner  for  the  goods  and  scores. 
So  all  day  long  till  Enoch's  last  at  home 
Shaking  their  pretty  cabin,  hammer  and  axe 
Auger  and  saw  while  Annie  seem'd  to  hear 
Her  own^  death-scaffold  raising,  shriird  and 

Till  this  was  ended,  and  his  careful  hand,  - 
Ihe  space  was  narrow,  -  having  order'd  all 
Almost  as  neat  and  close  as  Nature  packs 
Her  blossom  or  her  seedling,  paused  ;  and  he 
Who  needs  would  work  for  Annie  to  the  last' 
Ascendmg  tired,  heavily  slept  till  morn         ' 

And  Enoch  faced  this  morning  of  farewell 

SaSs\u  A*'"'-'''.^-    ^"  '^'^  An^nie's  f««:' 
vtr  F^fo^h      "T  ^'  '^^"*  «  laughter  to  him. 
Bowte^if^*""^^  God-fearing  man 
Wh«l  r  i^'^'^°''".'  ^"'^ '"  that  mystery 
Prav'd  fnr tKi"™'"  '*  °",^.  *"h  man-in-6od, 
Wh^tlf      blessing;  on  his  wife  and  babes 
Whatever  came  to  him  :  and  then  he  said 

Wnrbri;^''f.'-  Z''^t  ^y  ">«  «"•*«  ° 'God- 
win bring  fair  weather  yet  to  .  II  of  us 

For'?  T^'btl'^'e"'^  """^  ?  f'^"  ^^^for  me, 
i'or  1  _1.  be  back,  my  girl,  before  you  know 

Then  h'ghtly  rocking  baby's  cradl?  "an^i,- 

And  make^him  merry  when  I^c"oK'ome 
Come  Annie,  come,  cheer  up  before  I  go." 


"'^on'S.""''^^°°*='''"^*''^»J°°l' 
Annie,  the  ship  I  sail  in  passes  here 
(He  named  the  day);  get  you  a  seaman'. 
Spy  out  my  face,  and  laugh  at  all  your  fears." 

J  Annie,  my  girl,  cheer  up,  be  comforted 
Look  to  the  babes,  and  till  I  come  again' 

Jnd'}ern'o  m"^  '^P^'^^P<='  ^°'  '  "^"^Ho. 
rac.  ,11  '""'■^  '"'■  ""s  ■  o«'  >f  you  fear 

Cast  all  your  cares  on  God  ;  that  anchor  holda. 
P.,V/  "°t  yonder  ,n  those  uttermost         ^ 
rarts  ot  the  morning?  if  I  flee  to  fHa.. 
Can  I  go  from  Hin..?and  he  sea  «  hI 
The  sea  is  His :  He  made  it."  ^ 

But  foi  fhl  ^h-  ^°"der-str icken  little  ones ;  ^ 

Atr^i^X^^'h^^^  '"^'''y  "'"'•  *''o  slept 
After  a  night  of  feverous  wakefulness, 

"'hen^Annie  would  have  raised  him  Enoch 

"  ^^^he'Sild' '  '"  ''''"  ''"P  '■  ''°*  *'^°"'d 
Remember  this  ? "  and  kiss'd  him  in  his  cot 

A  t  n^  r1,'r/''°'!l  ^^'  ^^^y''  '■"^«=h"d  cl  Pt     ' 
ThrnLTl'-  "?'•  8'^^  i^  '■  ""s  he  kept 
1  hro  all  his  future  ;  but  now  hastily  caueht 
His  bundle,  waved  his  hand,  and  ^ent  W. 
way. 

She  when  the  day,  that  Enoch  mention'd, 
Borrow'd  a  glass,  but  all  in  vain  :  perhaps 

Shi  «/  k"  "y"  '"''^  ^'"''  hand  tremulous  ; 
waving,  the  moment  and  the  vessel  past. 


Hinri  running  on  thus  hopefully  she  heard 
The  cu'!^°tW''^?.^'^' •'"'-herheS 
In  cO     ?"',.?'  his  talk  to  graver  thines 
Oa".^  °:Sf '°"  '""Shly  sermonizh,7 

Kd,"""  ^"'^  """"*  '"   "^''^«"'  ''he 


Qf,^'''"  !V,'i^.'*«t  dip  of  the  vanishing  sail 
"h/m       "'  *"''  departed  weepfnl  for 

Then,  tho''  she  moum'd  his  absence  as  his 
grave, 

oet  her  sad  will  nr>  1».  t^  rhi-r-=^  -iM    L- 

But  throve  noVinhertrad^'^KiJted 
1  o  barter  nor  compensating  the  want 
Kjr  shrewdness,  neither  capable  of  lies. 
An-!i\n'r^f°''u'^H«h  and  taking  less. 
And  snil  foreboding  "What  would  Enoch 

For  more  than  once,  in  days  of  diflScuItv 
And  pressure,  had  .!,«  sol/ her  ware,  for  lew 


<M4 


Etfocrt  ARDt:tt. 


Than  what  she  gave  m  buying;  what  she  sold : 
She  fail'd  and  sadden'd  knowinjr  ■  :  and  thus, 
Expectant  of  that  news  which  \,    /er  came, 
Gain'd  for  her  own  a  scantv  sus'  jnance, 
And  lived  a  life  of  silent  melancholy. 

Now  the  third  child  was  sickly  born  and 
grew 
Yet  sirklier,  tho'  the  mother  cared  for  it 
With  all  a  mother's  care  :  nevertheless, 
Whether  her  business  often  call'd  her  from  it, 
Or  thro'  the  want  of  what  it  needed  most. 
Or  means  to  pay  the  voice  wlio  best  could  tell 
what  most  it  needed  —  howsoe'er  it  was, 
After  a  lingering,  —  ere  she  was  aware,  — 
Like  the  caged  bird  escaping  suddenly. 
The  little  innocent  soul  flitted  away. 

In  that  same  week  when  Annie  buried  it, 
Philip's  trur  heart,  which  hung    'd  for  her 

peace 
(Since  Enoch  left  he  had  not  look'd  upon 

Smote  him,  as  having  kept  aloof  so  long. 
"Surely,"  said  Philip,  "  i  may  see  her  now, 
May  be  some  little  comfort  "  ;  therefore  went 
Past  thro'  the  solitary  room  in  front,  * 

Paused  for  a  moment  at  an  inner  door. 
Then  struck  it  thrice,  and,  no  one  opening, 
Enter'd  ;  but  Annie,  seated  with  her  grieC 
Fresh  from  the  burial  of  her  little  one, 
Cared  not  to  look  on  any  human  face, 
But  turn'd  her  own  toward  the  wall  and 

wept. 
Then  Philip  standing  up  said  falteringly, 
"Annie,  I  came  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

He  spoke  ;  the  passion  in  her  moan'd  re- 
ply. 
"  Favor  from  one  so  sad  and  so  forlorn 
As  I  am  1 "  half  abash'd  hiin  ;  yet  unask'd, 
His  bashfulness  and  tenderness  at  war. 
He  sets  himself  beside  her,  saying  to  her : 

•  "I  came  to  speak  to  you  of  what    he 

wish'd, 
Enoch,  your  husband  :  I  have  ever  said 
You  chose  the  best  among  us  —  a   strong 

man  : 
For  where  he  fixt  his  heart  he  set  his  h„nd 
To  do  the  thing  he  will'd,  and  bore  it  thro'.     I 
And  wherefore  did  he  go  this  weary  way,         ' 
And  leave  you  lonely  ?  not  to  see  the  world— 
For    pleasure  ?  — nay,   but    for  the  where- 

_  withal 
To  give  his  babes  a  better  bringing-up 
Than  his  had  been,  or  yours  :  that  was  hir 

_  wish. 
And  if  he  come  again,  vext  will  he  be 
To  find  the  precious  morning  hours  wer&  lost. 
And  it  would  vex  nim  even  in  his  grave, 
If  he  could  know  his  babes  were  runninc 
wild  ,  ~ 

Like  colts  about  the  waste.      So,  Annie, 

now  — 
Have  we  not  known  each  other  all  our  lives? 
I  do  beseech  you  by  the  love  you  near 
Him  and  his  children  not  to  say  me  nay  —     I 


For,  if  you  will,  when  Enoch  comes  again 
Wiiy  then  he  shall  repay  me  —  if  you  v/ill, 
Annie  —  for  I  am  rich  and  well-to-do. 
Now  let  me  put  the  boy  and  girl  to  school : 
This  is  the  favor  that  I  came  to  ask." 

Then  Annie  with  her  brows  against  the 

wall 
Answer'd,  "  I  cannot  look  you  in  the  face  ■ 
I  seem  so  foolish  and  so  broken  down  •      ' 
When  you  came   in   ray  sorrow  broke  me 

down  ; 

And  now  I  think  your  kindness  breaks  me 

down  ; 
But  Enoch  lives  ;  that  is  borne  in  on  me  ; 
He  will  repay  you  :  money  can  be  repaid  : 
Not  kindness  such  as  yours." 

I.  rp.  .,,  ,  And  Philip  ask'd 

Then  you  will  let  me,  Annie  ? " 

-,  J    £      .  .There  she  tum'd, 

sne  rose,  and   fixt  her  swimming  eyes  upon 

him. 
And  dwelt  a  moment  on  his  kindly  face, 
1  hen  calling  down  a  blessing  on  his  head 
Caught  at  his  hand  and  wrung  it  passion- 
ately, 
And  past  into  the  little  garth  beyond. 
So  lifted  up  in  spirit  he  moved  away. 

A  ^Yt^  ^'""P  P"*  '''*  ''°y  ^'^^  B'*'!  «>  school, 
And  bought  them  needful  books,  and  every 

Like  one  who  does  his  duty  by  !jis  own. 
Made  himself  theirs ;  and  tho'  for  Annie's 

sake, 
Fearing  the  lazy  gossip  of  the  port. 
He  oft  denied  his  heart  his  dearest  wish, 
And  seldom  crost  her  threshold,  yet  he  sent 
Gifts  by  the  children,  garden-herbs  and  fruit, 
The  late  and  early  ros.;s  from  his  wall. 
Or  conies  from  the  down,  and  now  and  then. 
With  some  pretext  of  fineness  in  the  meal 
To  save  the  offence  of  charitable,  flour 
From  his  tall  mill  that  whistled  on  the  waste. 


But  Philip  did  not  fathom  Annie's  mind: 
Scarce  could  the  woman  when  he  came  upon 

her, 
Out  of  full  heart  and  boundless  grptitude 
Light  on  a  broken  word  to  thank  him  with. 
But  Philip  was  her  children's  all-in-all ; 
From  distant  comers  of  the  street  they  ran 
To  greet  his  hearty  welcome  heartily  ; 
Lords  of  his  house  and  of  his  mill  were  they ; 
Worried  his  passive  ear  with  petty  wrongs 
Or  pleasures,  hung  upon  him,  play'd  with 

him 
And  call'd  him  Father  Philip.    Philip  gain'd 

As  F.nnrh  Incf  ■    tnr  'Cr.nr.y-,  ..._'J   »„  •! 

Uncertain  as  a  vision  or  a  dream, 
Faint  as  a  figure  seen  in  early  dawn 
Down  at  the  far  end  of  an  avenue, 
Going  ye  know  not  where  ;  and  so  ten  years, 
Since  Enoch  left  his  hearth  and  native  land, 
Fled  forward,  and  no  news  of  Enoch  camt. 


Enoch  comes  again 
y  me  —  if  you  v;ill, 
ind  well-ti>-do. 
I  and  girl  lo  school : 
came  to  ask." 

ir  brows  against  the 

lok  you  in  the  face  ; 

)  broken  down  ; 

ly  sorrow  broke  me 

kindness  breaks  me 

is  borne  in  on  me  ; 
ney  can  be  repaid ; 
3urs." 

And  Philip  ask'd 
Annie  ? " 

There  she  tum'd, 
swimming  eyes  upon 

I  his  kindly  face, 
issing  on  his  head 
id  wrung  it  passion- 

jarth  beyond, 
moved  away. 

oy  and  girl  to  school, 
ul  books,  and  every 

tuty  by  !jis  own, 
nd  tho'  for  Annie's 

of  the  port, 
his  dearest  wish, 
reshold,  yet  he  sent 
rden-herbs  and  fruit, 
from  his  wall, 
,  and  now  and  then, 
eness  in  the  meal 
haritable,  flour 
histled  on  the  waste. 

lom  Annie's  mind: 
when  he  came  upon 

mdless  grrtitude 
to  thank  him  with, 
ren's  all-in-all ; 
the  street  they  ran 
)me  heartily  ; 
'his  mill  were  they ; 
■ith  petty  wrong? 
1  him,  play'd  with 

ilip.    Philip  gain'd 

dream, 

arly  dawn 

I  avenue, 

;  and  so  ten  year^ 

h  and  native  land, 

s  of  Enoch  camt. 


It  chajjc^  one  ev«bg  Annie's  children 
To  go  wit^  others,  nutting  to  the  wood 
AnfA.,me_  would  go  with"^  them  ;  "£'  they 

Him^l^k'^'l'h^''"'P>'  V^-^y  ^^""d  him)  too  : 
RlLn:.KM    '•''u  ^"'■'"Pg  bee  in  blossom-dust 

"ln'grhi!;;:'""^"«'^^°-'i^-dS- 

"Come  with  us  Father  Philip,"  he  denied  • 

He'la"'Lir'd^VJ'''''l7/'"'=!j^^  »'himrgo, 
we  laugh  d,  and  yielded  read  ly.to  their  with 
For  was  not  Annie  with  them .'  ii'nd  they  wen  t! 

But  after  scaling  half  the  weary  down 
^o'k^^if '" :''"  P"?".^  ^^^^  °f  'he  wood  began 
FailM  h//.'°"'5'''*-"L^  ''°"°*^''  a"  herforSf 
said :  "^    °*^  "  ^^^  ""  '"'  "  she 

WhS5' a^lThl"^  ^'"'  •"=•■  ^^"-'^ontent  ; 

cries         *     "^"  °""  *'*•*  J"hilant 

Down  ^To'^t  "'If"'  ^"'^  tumultuously 
plunge         *'"'«"'"g  hazels  made  a 

^°  "'\roke°'"'  ^"'^  d'*P«'^<=d,  and  bent  or 

Thtv'!^!^''"?*""*  °°"^''^  '»  '"r  away 
I  heir  tawny  clusters,  crying  to  each  other 
And  calling,  here  and  thereT  about  "he  wood. 

But  Philip  sitting  at  her  side  forgot 
Her  presence,  and  remember'd  one  dark  hour 
Here  m  this  wood,  when  like  a  wounded  Hfe 
He  crept  mto  the  shadow :  at  last  he  said 
Lifting  his  honest  forehead,  "Listen  Annie 
How  merjj  they  are  down  yoS  tn""the 

"^'"'worl'"''*' "  '""'  "''*  ^'^  "°t  "P''^'^  a 

"^'"hailds^f ''".'■'"  '"^'^  f^"'"  "P«n  her 
At  which,  as 'with  a  kind  of  anger  in  him! 

ft  *"       '    ^^  '^''''     ""*  ^''iP  ^« 

?nT'"t°^*J'*'  '  '^''y  should  you  kiJi  yourself 

TaW,      ■"  °''"'''*"*  'I""*  •  "  And  AnTie 

"  I  thoughi  not  of  it :  but  - 1  know  not  why  - 

Their  voices  make  me  feel  so  solitaiy."^ 

"  J!''"/ij,'''P'=°'"'"«;»o'newhat  closer  Si  ,ke 
AnAhA"  "  '  ""'"8  upon  my  mind 
That  ho- 1  wtf"  "P°"  T  '"i"d  so  long,' 

fw^hit'irw'iroLr  f?i't'%T '^''"'' 
s£ia;i^,i^-S«tC!^f^.e 

J  f!'.!"*.*?  see  you  poor  and  wanting  help ; 
i;M«="'  !u  P  y""  *•"  ^  wish  to  do  ■ 

Perhanr       \  ''y  *''^'  viomm  are  so  quick  - 
l-erhaps  youjknow  what  I  would  h2ve  you 

A^ite"  '"'■  "^K^:!"-     I  <■»'"  would  prove 
AJather  to  your  children:  I  do  think 
They  love  me  as  a  father :  I  am  me 


£mCH  ARDEl^. 


And  I  have  loved  you  longer  than  you  know  " 
"  Vn.f  hf 'T''''  Annie ;  tenderly  she  spok-  • 
hoJse.''""  ^'  ^°^''  ^°'^  ^ngelttur 
God  bless  you  for  it,  God  reward  you  for  it 

A  little  after  Enoch  •'"""O.'l'he  cried     '^ 
Scared  as  it  were,  "  dear  Phi  ip,  wai,  f -vhile  • 

Yef  waif  f  v'^ar  T^"'  ^•"'^''  ^''^  not  coSl: 
SuUv  r  cj,^n  t  *  y*'""  "s  "°«  so  long : 
purely  I  shall  be  wiser  in  a  year : 

0  wai   a  httle  I  "    Philip  sadly  skid 
'Annie,  as  I  ^ve  waited  all  my  1f^ 

1  well  t.,ay  wait  a  little."   "  Nav  "  she  rn.^ 
I  am^bound :  j-ou  have  my  p?dmiilf?„i 

H^lll^il-^^-^IhKletmne;;;    ' 

And  sentji,  voice  beneath  him"tW  ?£e 

The^fn^  ^''ii'^I'"'  '=«'«"  with  their  spoil; 
At  An^  el'T'''t'°  "'"  P°^t'  «"d  there    • 

hand,  ''*'  ''^"''''^  ''"'^  eav«  his 

Saying  gently,  "  Annie,  when  I  spoke  to  vou 

wfon^"  '"^  °'  -"'^"^ss      I'wai 

Thw"  An^'ii'"""''  *°  y°"'  "^"'y""  a^e  free." 
bound  "''"P"'S   answer'd,    "I    am 


She  spoke  ;  and  in  one  moment  as  it  were 

K  ,r  h ''r'P' '''°"'  '^^  household  wa™; 
TW  u   she  dwelt  upon  his  latest  words,    ^ 

Tha  aut^m  J"?*^  ^" '""«."  "'''"  she  knew, 
A„^  .^    T"  ""°,autumn  flash'd  again. 
And  there  he  stood  once  more  before  hor  face 

""ask'd"  *"■'""''*'•  "  ^^  ''  ^  year ?••  she 
"Yes.  if  the  nuts,"  he  said,  "be  ripe  at;ain  • 
""""'himoffl  ""•"  ^"'  she -^IhriTu; 
^"'"mon'th-"''   '""""^'^  *  ohange-a 

"'""  'bJundT-l"'^"*'^*  ''"*''^  *'^'*  ^''^  *" 
A  month  —  no  more, 
eyes 

Shakini'^f  ?•»(*'?■';«  ''"'?'5''''  ""-J  his  voice 
bhaking  a  little  like  a  dninkard's  hand, 

time"''**"^  *"^*'  '^°''''''  '^^^  y°"«-own 


Then  Philip  with  hit 


il6 


And  Annie  couldliave  wept  for  pity  of  him  • 
And  yet  she  held  him  on  Jelayingl"  ' 

With  many  a  scarce-beliavabit  excuse, 
Trying  his  truth  and  his  long  sufferance. 
1  111  half-another  year  had  slipt  away. 

By  this  the  lazy  gossips  of  the  port. 
Abhorrent  of  a  calculation  crost, 
aegan  to  chafe  as  at  a  personal  wrong. 
Some  thought  tnat  Philip  did  but  trifle  with 
her; 

An'J  nfh^'  '^  K"t  I'sld  offto  draw  him  on  ; 
And  others  laugh'd  at  her  and  Philip  too, 
As  simple  folk  that  knew  not  their  own 

minds ; 
And  one,  in  whom  all  evil  fancies  clung 
Like  serpent  eggs  together,  laughingly 
Would  hint  at  worseTn  either.   '^Her  own  son 
Was  silent,  tho'  he  often  look'd  his  wish  ; 
«ut      ermore  the  daughter  prest  upon  her 
10  v,ed  the  man  so  dear  to  all  of  them 
A   J  nu!?*  household  out  of  poverty  • 
And  Philip's  rosy  face  contsacting  grew 
Careworn  and  wan  ;  and  all  these  things  fell 

on  her  ° 

Sharp  as  reproach. 


ENOCH  ARDEN. 


Such  doubts  and  fears  were  common  to  her 
state,  " 

Being  with  child:  but  when  her  child  w»>- 

born, 
Then  her  new  child  was  as  herself  renew'd 
1  hen  the  new  mother  came  about  her  heart 
1  hen  her  good  Philip  was  her  all-in  all        ' 
And  that  mystenous  instinct  wholly  died. 

^"'^sailM''*   ^^^    ^"°''''-     P'°''P"°"sIy 


*   Ti,,*  A     •         .-ftJastonetiight  it  chanced 
PravM  ?"'*  ^?"ld  not  sleep,  but  earnestly 
Pray  d  for  a  sign  "  my  Enoch,  is  he  gone  ?  " 
Ihen  compass'd  round  by  the  blind  wall  of 
night 

f/'f,S^}'f"°'  the  expectant  terror  of  her  heart. 
Started  from  bed,  and  struck  herself  a  light, 
1  hen  desperately  seized  the  holy  Book. 
Sudden  y  set  it  wide  to  find  a  sign. 
Suddenly  put  her  finger  on  the  text, 
Under  a  palmtree.'^    That  was  nothing  to' 

No  meaning  there  :  she  closed  the  book  and 

When  lo  I  her  Enoch  sitting  on  a  height. 
Under  a  palmtree,  over  him  the  Sun  \ 
He  IS  gone,"  she  thought,  "he  is  happy, 
he  is  singing 
Hosanna  in  the  highest :  yonder  shines 
ine   bun  of  Righteousness,   and  these  be 

palms 
Whereof  the  happ;r  people  strewing  cried 

Hosanna  in  the  higfiest  I '  "  Here  the  woke. 

Resolved,  sent  for  him  and  said  wildly  to  him 

„  n-r  ""^r*  no  reason  why  we  should  not  wed. " 

ihen  for  God's  sake,"  he  answer'd,  "  both 

our  sakes. 

So  you  will  wed  me,  let  it  be  at  once." 

So  these  were  wed  and  merrily  rang  the 

Merrily  rang  the  bells  and  they  were  wed. 
But  never  merrily  beat  Annie's  heart. 
A  footstep  seem'd  to  fall  beside  her  path. 
She  knew  not  whence  ;  a  whisper  on  her  ear. 
She  knew  not  what  ■  nor  loved  she  to  be  left 
Alone  at  home,  nor  ventured  out  alone. 

often  "'^*  ^'^  ^^^  enter'd, 

Her  hand  dwelt  lingeringly  on  the  latch, 
Feanng  to  enter :  Philip  thought  he  kniw  :    ' 


I  ^^'    foHh"^°°'^  Fortune,"  tho'  at  setting 

And  f  S  '■°"^''ly  t^f^3  eastward,  shook 
And  almost  overwhelmed  her,  yet  unvext 
She  shpt  across  the  summer  of  the  world. 
Then  after  a  long  tumble  about  the  Cape 
And  frequent  interchange  of  foul  and  fair. 
She  passing  thro'  the  summer  world  again, 
] he  breath  of  Heaven  came  continually 
And  sent  her  sweet  y  by  the  golden  isles, 
Till  silent  m  her  oriental  haven. 

o,H^'■*  ^"°^.''  ""^4^^  ^°^  ''■'"s^"'.  and  bought 
Quaint  monsters   for  the  market  of  thSse 

times, 
A  gilded  dragon,  also,  for  the  babes. 

Less  lucky  her  home-voyage  :  at  fin    in- 

deed 
Thro'  manv  a  fair  sea-circle,  day  by  day. 
acarce-rocking,  her  full-busted  figure-head 
Stared  o'er  the  npple  feathering  from  her 

bows : 
Then  follow'd  calms,  and  then  winds  variable, 
Ihen  baffling,  a  long  course  of  them  ;  and 

last 
Storm,   such  as  drove  her  under  moonless 

heavens 
Till  hard  upon  the  cry  of  "breakers  "  came 
1  he  crash  of  ruin,  and  tlte  loss  of  all 
But  Enoch  and  two  others.     Half  the  nieht 
Buoy  d  upon  floating  tackle  and  broken  spars! 

R  .h  I,  »'}K''■,'*'■^'?'^'"?  °"  ""  ''''e  at  morn 
Rich,  but  the  loneliest  m  a  lonely  sea 

No  want  was  there  of  human  sustenance, 
bolt  fruitage,  mighty  nuts,  and  nourishing 
roots ;  * 

Ncr  save  for  pity  was  it  hard  to  take 
Ihe  helpless  life  so  wild  that  it  was  tame. 
1  here  in  a  seaward-gazing  mountain-gorge 
They  built,  and  thatch'd  with  leaves  of  palm. 
a  hut,  ^      ' 

Half  hut,  half  native  cavern.     So  the  three, 
set  m  this  Eden  of  all  plenteousness, 
Dwelt  with  eternal  summer,  ill-content. 

For  one,  the  youngest,  hardly  more  than 

Hurt  in  that  night  of  sudden  ruin  and  wrork. 
i.ay  lingering  out  a  three-years'  death-in-iife.' 
They  could  not  leave  him.    After  lie  was 

gone. 
The  two  remaining  found  a  fellen  stem  ; 
And  i-noch  s  comrade,  careless  of  himself, 
tire-hollowing  this  m  Indian  fashion,  fell 


were  common  to  Her 

t  when  her  child  wa" 

s  as  herself  renew'd, 
came  about  her  heart 
was  her  all-in-all,        ' 
stuict  wholly  died. 

;noch  ?    Prosperously 

une,"  tho'  at  setting 

l^ging  eastward,  shook 
d  her,  yet  unvext 
imer  of  the  world, 
le  about  the  Cape 
ge  of  foul  and  fair, 
immer  world  arain, 
came  continually 
'  the  golden  isles, 
1  haven. 

*r  himself,  and  bought 
he  market  of  those 

)r  the  babes, 
-voyage  :  at  fin    in- 

■cle,  day  by  day, 
busted  figure-head 
feathering  from  her 

then  winds  variable, 
aurse  of  them  ;  and 

ber  under  moonless 

"breakers"  came 
fc  loss  of  all 
rs.     Half  the  night, 
le  and  broken  spars, 
3n  an  isle  at  morn 

a  lonely  sea. 

luman  sustenance, 
Its,  and  nourishing 

ard  to  take 
hat  it  was  tame. 
J  mountain-gorge 
t'ith  leaves  of  palm, 

•n.     So  the  three, 
nteousness, 
ir,  ill-content. 

hardly  more  than 

sn  ruin  and  wreck, 
sars'  death-in-iife. 
n.    After  he  was 

I  fellen  stem  ; 
eless  of  himself, 
an  fashion,  fell 


Sun-strickert,  and  that  other  lived  alone 

In  thospjwo  deaths  he  ,ead  God's  warning 


ENOCH  ARD  EN. 


Uf 


The  mountain  wooded  to  the  peak,  the 

And  winding  glades   high  up  like  ways  to 
Heaven,  ' 

Th^  fthf"  ''°T'^  ^'■?9P'''g  crown  of  pi  uuies. 
The  lightning  flash  of  msect  and  of  bird. 
Ihe  lustre ofthe  long  convolvuluses 
That  coil  d  around  the  stately  stems,  and  ran 
£v'n  to  the  hmit  ofthe  land,  the  glows 
And  glories  ofthe  br-nd  belt  of  the  world. 
All  these  he  saw  ;  but  what  he  fain  had  seen 
He  could  not  see,  the  kindly  human  face. 
Nor  ever  hear  a  kindly  voice,  but  heard 
The  myriad  shriek  of  wheeling  ocean-fowl. 
The  league-long  roller  thun^dering  on  the 

^^^   'hS'd'^'''^^'  °^  ''"«''    '"="    "'^' 
And  bIossom;d  in  the  zenith,  or  ihe  sweep 
Of  some  precipitous  rivulet  to  the  wave 

Sat  oTen  in'.h^"'"  ''"  '?"«''?'  ""  *"  ^ay  long 
oat  Often  in  the  spaward-gaz  ne  eorse 

A  sh.pwreck'd  sailor,  waifing  IrTfaTl : 
No  sail  .rom  dav  to  day,  but%very  day 
Thw  sunrise  broken  into  scarlet  shafts 
Among  the  palms  and  ferns  and  precipices  ; 
The  bFaze  upon  the  waters  to  the  east ; 
The  b  aze  upon  his  island  overhead  • 
VK      \l^^  "P°"  '•^*  *3'er3  to  the  west  • 
i  hen   he  great  stars  that  globed  themselves 
.  in  Heaven, 

The  hollower-bellowing  ocean,  and  again 
The  scarlet  shafts  of  sunrise-  but  no  sL?l. 

^'"'wat°ch!"  *^  ^^  "^""^"^'^  "^  ^^^""'^  t° 
So  still,  the  golden  lizard  on  him  paused 

Be?ort"v'"  r^'°^  ?-^"y  Pf'a-Uoms  nio'ved 
ulvJkh^  ^*•""""S:  h  "1.  or  he  himself 

known  ^^  P'°P'''  "''"Ss  and  places, 
Th- 'k  \^^''^t^  js'e  bevond  the  line  ; 

hous\  '"  ^^^^^''  ^""''='  *•>«  ^•»»» 
The  climbing  street,  the  mill,  the  leafy  lanes 
The  peacock-yewtree  and  the  lonely  ftill""' 
The  horse  he  drove,  the  boat  he  sold,  the 

November  dawns  and  dewy-glooming  downs 

Andfh^"'  ^^'"'"'  'i??  ^'nellof  dyin|le°a^3' 
And  the  low  moan  of  leaden-color'd  seas 

x5'?ce.'''^ewise,  in  the  ringing  of  his  ear« 

He°h/ard'  Lr 7'^ "/S^  ^"^  f-rll^S- 
Then   tho-  h/f ''"^  of  his  parish  bells ; 
inen.jho   he  knew  not  wfierefore,  started 

Shuddering,  and  when  the  beauteous  hateful 

wl?*'^  5"?°" '''•n.  had  not  his  poor  heart 
&'«•' ^"h  That,  which  being  everywhere 
Z1:J'^°  speaks  with  Him,  seem  Si 
Sutly  the  man  had  died  of  solitud* 


Thus  over  Enoch's  early-silverinit  head 
YeaVaTrVear  "fer ""'  ""-J^ent 
Andpa:^^&rSVKSSr^"• 

r.^r'  ^/^'^  I^*"*'''^'  *hen  hislone  y  doom 
Came  suddenly  to  an  end.    Another  shb 
(She  wanted  water)  blown  by  baffli"^  Zds 
ctr?e.°'  ^°'-'""«.  f'"'"  her  leSd 
Stay'd^bythi's  isle,  not  knowing  where  sha 

Kro'irrJ''' ;"''**  1?^"^  "«»  «  early  dawn 
Across  a  break  on  the  mist-wreathen  isle 
Ihe  silen   water  slipping  from  the  hills 
In  sS  Of ''T  "''*'  H^'^'S  burst  away 

shares  ""■  '"""*•  '*"''  '^"''J  the 

With  damor.   Downward  from  his  mountain 

Stept  t^eTong-hair'd  long-bearded  solitarv 
Brown,  looking  hardly  human,  strange lycb^ 
WhhYn"V'"f  "'""'bling.  idiotlike  ifS'd,' 
With  ina.ticul.-,te  rage,  and  making  signs 

To  i^h^r'Th'"'-^'',"*  ■■  ''i?'^  y«^'  ^^  'ed  the  way 
10  wlieru  the  rivulets  of  sweet  water  ran  ■ 
And  ever  as  he  mingled  with  the  crew      ' 
And  heard  them  talking,  his  long-To'unden 

longue 
Was  loosen'J,  till  he  made  them  understand  • 
abwrd  •        "^'"'  ""*  ^^^'^  they  took 
And  there  the'tale  he  utter'd  brokenlv 
Scarce  credited  at  first  but  more  and  mn« 
A^tcf,^''^  ■je'ted  all  who™hs7en'd  to  r 
home'  •    ^^  ^'^'  ^'"^  '"'^  fr^*^  P^^Ke 

And  dull  the  voyage  was  with  long  delavs 

Returning  till  beneath  a  clouded  moon 
He  like  a  lover  down  thro'  all  his  blood 
iJrew  m  the  dewy  meadowv  morning-breath 
Of  England,  blown  across  her  ghostlv  wall  • 

Leviid','  ^^"3,1 '"°™'"«  officer!  and  7nen     ' 
Levied  a  kindly  tax  upon  themselves, 
i^itying  the  loneiy  man,  and  gave  him  it : 
1  hen  moving  up  the  coast  they  landed  him. 
Ev  n  m  that  harbor  whence  he  sail 'd  before. 

There  Enoch  spoke  no  word  to  any  one, 
But  homeward,  -  home,  ~  what  home  ?  hkd 

he  a  home  ? 
His  home  he  walk'd.    Bright  was  that  after- 

noon, 
S"nny^  but^chiU ;    till  drawn    thro'   either 

Where  eithe;  haven  open'd  on  the  deeps. 
Roll  d  a  sea-haze  and  whelm'd  the  wo^  in 

aTa^^A^  ;'""«"'  of  highway  on  before, 
Ai.d  left  but  narrow  breadth  to  left  and  rieht 

On^K ''"  t''°'^°I  "'th  »'  pasturage.       *" 
On  the  nigh-naked  tree  the  Robin  piped 


pi  . 

<  ?  i 


II, 


M 


Discongolate,  and  thro'  the  dripping  haze 
The  dead  weight  of  the  dead  leaf  bore  it 

dwiwn : 
Thicker  the  driiile  grew,  deeper  the  gloom  ; 
Last,  as  It  seem'd,  a  great  mist-blotted  light 
Hared  on  him,  and  he  came  upon  the  place. 


£noch  ARDEN. 


to 


Then  down  the  long  street  having  slowly 

Hjs  heart  foreshadowing  all  calamity. 
His  eyes  upon  the  stones,  he  reach'd  the 
home 

Where  Annie  lived  and  loved  him,  and  his 

babes 
In  those  far-oflf  seven  happy  years  were  bom  ; 
^  a"u-ii    Ir"^  neither  light  nor  murmur  there 
(A  bill  of  sale  gleam 'd  thro'  the  drizzle)  crept 
Still  downward  thinking  "  dead  or  dead  to 
me  I  ' 

Down  to  the  pool  and  narrow  wharf  he 
went. 
Seeking  a_  tavern  v        ,  of  old  he  knew, 
A  front  of  timber-  antiquity, 

So  propt,  worm-eatcii,  ruinously  old. 
He  thought  u  must  have  gone  ;  but  he  was 
gone 

Wilh  da?il'!,'  ?"fr''''  ^i""'  Miriam  Lane, 

A  hauntn^f  K'*'"r''"SP''°'^'^'^«''l  ♦l^*  house; 
A  haunt  of  brawling  seamen  once,  but  now 
.      Stiller  with  yet  a  bed  for  wandering  men 
Ihere  Lnoch  rested  silent  many  days? 

But  Miriam  Lane  was  good  and  garrulous. 
N^.Jet  '"m  be,  but  often  breaking  in, 
lold  him,  with  other  annals  of  the  port. 
Not  knowing -Enoch   was  so   brown, 
bow'd,  ' 

So  broken  -  all  the  storv  of  his  house. 
hL  Pv.^r  '''''"'l'  ^V.  growing  poverty. 
And  k^nl  ;E  ""'•''*•"■  "«'e  ones  to  schcil. 
And  kept  them  in  it,  his  long  wooing  her, 

birth~°''°''  ^^  """"age.  and  the 

No^hirf^n^ "'!"''  •'  ^"^  ^'f'  •"■"  countenance 
Wo  shadow  past,  nor  motion  ,  any  one 

Regarding,  well  had  deem'd  he  fe^t  the  tale 

"  Ff,orh"  *''*  '^"""  =  ""'y  ^l'^"  she  closed? 
H«  .»?fi '  P°?-  '"'"•  *ascast  away  and  lost," 
He  shaking  his  ^y  head  pathetibally, 
Rei^ated  mutter  ng  "  Cast  away  an/lost  »  • 
Again  in  deeper  inward  whispew  "  Lost  I "  ' 

"  K"l'm/lhM  y«,""'it°  see  her  face  again  ; 
If  I  might  look  on  her  sweet  face  again 

thou^ght  '  '*    •'"PP^-"      S°  *•>« 

Haunted  and  harass'd  him,  dnd  drove  him 

At  evening  when  the  dull  November  day 
Was  growing  duller  twilight,  to  the  hill.^ 

Th«!  df^"*'  Is***  S*5'"g  °n  »»  below : 

mere  din   a  fitAi>a..*,j  .._. •  ,. 

. --   _ — ,.n„   iircmurics  roll  1 

Unspeakable  for  sadness.    By  and  by 
7  he  ruddy  square  of  comfortable  light, 
Allnii^^'h"^  from  the  rear  of  Philip's  louse, 
AUured  hua,  as  the  beacon-blase  aUures 


upou 


j  The  bird  of  passage,  till  he  madly  strikes 
Against  It,  and  beats  out  his  weary  life. 

Th^Tof ''!''i?''  '^w'l'ing  fronted  on  the  street. 
The  latest  house  to  landward  ;  but  behind 
With  one  small  gate  that  open'd  on  the  waste 

And  in  It  throve  an  ancient  evergreen, 
A^ewtree,  and  all  round  it  ran  Iwalk 
Of  shingle,  and  a  walk  divided  it  • 
But  Enoch  shunn'd  the  middle  walk  and 
stole 

^l  ^y  'he  wall,  behind  the  yew ;  and  thence 
Tfiat  which  he  better  mi.;ht  have  shunn'd  ?f 

gnefs 
Like  his  have  worse  or  better,  Enoch  saw. 

SDa?kled^',n!i'^  "il^"  ""  ""*  ''"™ish'd  hoard 
hearth  ^  '    *°  ^*"''''  "^^  ^^e 

Philin"/K'"'  V'^t*  hand  of  the  hearth  he  saw 
Philip,  the  slighted  suitor  of  old  times 

xZV^l'  '*"''  ''■i  M?*  '>'=^°s''  his  knees; 
And  o  er  her  second  father  stoopt  a  girl 
A  later  but  a  loftier  Annie  Lee.         *    ' 

fci-.^'  '^.^"'^  u''"l-^P'^  fr""'  herlifted  hand 
Dangled  a  length  of  ri    ion  and  a  ring 
lo  tempt  the Tiabe,  wno  rear'd  his  creasy 
arms,  >-'«»y 

Catight  at  andevermiss'dit,  and  they laugh'd  • 
Th^:^"J^  '','*  ''''•'"'  °^»he  hearth  Jle  saw 

R„f  t^^L  '■^'*"'='"§  °/'*'"  '°W3fd  her  babe. 
But  turning  now  and  then  to  speak  with  him 
Her  son,  wTio  stood  before  her  tVll  and  strong 
And  saying  that  which  pleased  him,  fo7he 
smiled. 

Now  when  the  dead  man  come  to  life  be- 

Hir<^'i''t'''^'*J•' "° "'°«'  ^^^^  «»w  the  bab« 

&Ji  .K  "*  ^"'  "P°n 'he  father's  knee, 

new     **™'*'''  *^«  1^»<=«>  'he  happi- 
And  his  ov  1  children  tall  and  beautiful, 
T  r  J  y^'- '     V°"'"'  "■eigning  in  his  place, 
I  ordof  his  nghtsandoffiischildren'sW- 
nen  he,  the  Miriam  Lane  had  told  him  kll 

h^eSd"^'  '""  ^'*'  '"'■«''"'^'  than  thingi 
Stagger'd  and  shook,  holding  the  branch. 

and  learxi 
To  send  abroad  a  shrill  and  terrible  cry 
Which  in  one  moment,  like  the  blast  of  doom 
Would  shatter  all  the  happiness  of  the  hearth! 

r  ^^'herefore  turning  softly  like  a  thief, 
Lestthe  harsh  shingle  should  grate  underfoot. 
And  feeling  all  along  the  garden-wall, 
Lest  he  should  swoon  and  tumble  and  be 
lound, 

aH^^Ii!?/''*  g3*?>,and  open'd  it,  and  closed, 
As  lightly  as  a  sick  man^g  ohatnbsr-dn.->r 
Behind  him,  and  came  out  upon  fhe  waste. 

And  there  he  would  have  knelt,  but  that 
his  knees 
Were  feeble,  so  that  falling  prone  he  dug 
His  fingers  into  the  wet  earth,  and  pray'^. 


II  he  madly  strikes 
It  his  weary  life. 

fronted  on  the  street, 
iward ;  but  behind, 
topen'd  on  the  waste, 
n  square  and  wall'd  : 
ent  evergreen, 
J  it  ran  a  walk 
livided  it : 
le  middle  walk  and 

he  yew ;  and  thence 
'9;ht  have  shunn'd,  if 

letter,  Enoch  saw. 

I  the  bumish'd  board 
so  genial  was  the 

fthe  hearth  he  saw 

)r  of  old  times, 

le  across  his  knees ; 

ler  stoopt  a  girl, 

ie  Lee. 

from  her  lifted  hand 

on  and  a  ring 

0  rear'd  liis  creasy 

it,andtheylaugh'd: 
be  hearth  he  saw 
n  toward  her  babe, 

II  to  speak  with  him, 
:  her  tall  and  strong, 
ileased  him,  for  he 


an  come  to  life  be- 

,  and  saw  the  babe 
e  father's  knee, 
peace,  the  happi- 

and  beautiful, 
ling  in  his  place, 
schildren'slove, — 
e  had  told  him  all, 
ightier  than  things 

Iding  the  branch, 

d  terrible  cry, 
the  blast  of  doom, 
ness  of  the  hearth. 

ly  like  a  thief, 
d  grate  underfoot, 
arden-wall, 
i  tumble  and  be 

'd  it,  and  closed, 
hambsr-dnor, 
upon  the  waste, 

e  Imth,  but  that 

prone  he  dug 
h,  and  pray'd. 


tmCH  ARUElf. 


*•  Too  hard  to  bear  I  why  did  they  take  me 
thence  ? 

0  God  Almighty,  blessed  Saviour,  Thou 
That  didst  uphold  me  on  my  lonely  isle 
Uphold  me.  Father,  in  my  loneliness 
A  little  longer !  aid  me,  give  me  strength 
Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  knowT 
Help  me  not  to  break  in  upon  her  peace 
My  children  too  !  must  I  not  speak  to  these? 

1  hey  know  me  not.     I  should  betray  myself. 
Never :  no  father's  kiss  for  me,  —  the  girl 
So  like  her  mother,  and  the  boy,  my  son  " 


m 


There  speech  and  thought  and  nature  fail'd 
a  httle, 
And  he  lay  tranced :  but  when  he  rose  and 

paced 
Back  toward  his  solitary  home  again. 
All  down  the  narrow  street  he  went 
Beating  it  in  upon  his  weary  brain. 
As  tho'  it  were  the  burthen  of  a  song, 
Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  know  " 


He  was  not  all  unhappy.     His  resolve 
Upbore  him,  and  firm  faith,  and  evermore 
myer  from  a  living  source  within  the  will, 
And  beatinfj  up  thro'  all  the  bitter  world, 
Like  fountains  of  sweet  water  in  the  sea. 
Kept  hiin  a  living  soul.    "  This  miller's  wife," 
He  said  to  Miriam,  "  that  you  told  me  of. 
Has  she  no  fear  that  her  first  husband  lives  ?  " 
Ay,  ay,  poor   soul,"  said  Miriam,   "  fear 
enow  t 
If  you  could  tell  her  you  had  seen  him  dead. 
Why,  that  would  be  her  comfort  " :  and  he 

thought, 
"  After  the  Lord  has  call'd  me  she  shall  know 
I  wait  His  time,"  and  Enoch  set  himself, 
scorning  an  alms,  to  work  whereby  to  live 
Almost  to  all  things  could  he  turn  his  hand. 
Cooper  he  was  and  carpenter,  and  wrought 
10  make  the  boatmen  fishing-nets,  or  help'd 
At  lading  and  unlading  the  tall  barks, 
That  brought  the  stinted  commerce  of  those 

days: 
Thus  eam'd  a  scanty  living  for  himself: 
Yet  since  he  did  but  labor  for  himself. 
Work  without  hope,  there  was  not  life  in  it 
r 'j.VfPy  til*  ">»"  could  live  ;  and  as  the  year 
KoU  d  Itself  round  again  to  meet  the  day 
When  Enoch  had  retum'd,  a  languor  came 
Upon  him,  gentle  sickness,  gradually 
Weakening  the  man,  till  he  could  do  no  more, 
But  kept  the  house,  his  chair,  and  last  his 

bed. 
And  Enoch  bore  his  weakness  cheerfully 
*or  sure  no  gladlier  does  the  stranded  wreck 
see  thro  the  gray  akirts  of  a  lifting  squall 
Ihe  boat  that  bears  the  hope  of  life  approach 
1  o  save  the  life  des_pair'd  of,  than  he  saw 
—eat.,  dawiiins  o"  nim,  and  the  close  of  all. 

For  thro'  that  dawning  gleam'd  a  kindlier 
hope 
On  Enoch  thinking,  "  After  I  am  gone, 
inen  may  she  learn  I  loved  her  to  the  last."  ' 
He  call'd  aloud  for  Miriam  Laae  and  said 


Woman,  I  have  a  secret  -  only  swear, 
Before  I  tell  you  -  swear  upon  the  book 
..  ?>  '°  ^veaf  It,  till  you  see  me  dead." 

Dead,     clamor'd  the  good  woman,  "  hear 
him  talk  1  .       =« 

I  warrant,   man,  that  we  shall    bring  you 
round."  a   /  •* 

"Swear,"  added   Enoch  i  ernly,    "on   the 
book." 

And  on  the  book,  half-frighted,  Miriam  swore. 
Ihen  Enoch  rolling  his  gray  eyes  upon  her, 
..  5"*  yo"  .Know  Enoch  Arden  of  this  town  .' " 
Know  him  ? "  she  said,  "  I  knew  him  far 

away. 
Ay,  ay,  I  mind  him  coming  down  the  street : 

he  "  ^^'''  ^""^  ""***  ^°^  no  man, 

Slowly  and  sidly  Enoch  answer'd  her  ; 

T  .u'*i    ,^^  '*  '""''  ^"'^  "o  man  cares  for  him 
1  think  I  have  not  three  days  more  to  live  • 
I  am  the  man."    At  which  the  woman  gave 
^  half-incredulous,  half-hysterical  cry. 

You  Arden,  you  1  nay,  —  sure  he  was  a  foot 
Higher  than  you  be."     Enoch  said  again. 

My  Ood  has  bow'd  me  down  to  what  I  am  • 
My  grief  and  solitude  have  broken  me  ; 
Nevertheless,  know  you  that  I  am  he 
Who  married  —  but  that  name  has  twice  been 

changed  — 
I  married  her  who  married  Philip  Ray 
Sit,  listeri."    Then  he  told  her  of  his  voyage. 
His  wreck,  his  lonely  life,  his  coming  back. 
His  gazing  in  on  Annie,  his  resolve, 
And  how  he  kept  it.     As  the  woman  heard. 
*?st  flow  d  the  current  of  her  easy  teans. 
While  m  her  heart  she  yearn'd  incessantly 
lo  rush  abroad  all  round  the  little  haven, 
Proclaiming  Enoch  Arden  and  his  woes  ; 
j  But  awed  and  promise-bounden  she  forbore. 
I  Saying  only  "  See  your  bairns  before  you  go  I 
Eh,  let  me  fetch  'm,  Arden,"  and  arose 
tager  to  bring  them  down,  for  Enoch  hung 
A  moment  on  her  words,  but  then  replied  : 

'  Woman,  disturb  me  not  now  at  the  last. 
But  let  me  hold  my  purpose  till  I  die. 

wi.-i"'^",''^*'"  '  ^^^^  ""*  ''"d  understand, 
W  JiUe  I  have  power  to  speak.     I  charge  you 

now. 
When  you  shall  see  her,  tell  her  that  I  died 
Blessing  her,  praying  for  her,  loving  her  ; 
bave  for  the  bar  between  us,  loving  her 
As  when  she  laid  her  head  beside  my  own 
And  tell  my  daughter  Annie,  whom  I  saw 
5jo  like  her  mother,  that  my  latest  breath 
Was  spent  in  blessing  her  and  praying  for 

And  tell  my  son  that  I  died  blessing  him. 
And  say  to  Philip  that  I  blest  him  too  ; 
He  never  meant  us  anything  but  good. 
«Jl  ''l~y„'^hildreri  care  io  sec  me  dead. 
Who  hardly  knew  me  living,  let  them  come, 
1  am  their  mther;  but  she  must  not  come. 
For  my  dead  face  would  vex  her  after-life. 
And  now  there  is  but  one  of  all  my  blood. 
Who  will  embrace  me  in  the  world-to-be  : 
This  hair  is  his :  she  cut  it  off  and  gave  it. 
And  I  have  borne  it  with  me  all  these  yean. 


I* 


And  thought  to  bea-  it  with  me  to  my  erave  • 
But  now  my  mind  is  changed,  for  I  shall  see 

him, 
My  babe  in  bliss  :  wherefore  when  I  am  gone. 
1  ake.  give  her  this,  for  it  may  comfort  her  : 
It  will  iiioreov  er  be  a  token  to  her. 
That  I  am  he." 

M  J         L      He  ceased  ;  and  Miriam  Lane 
Made  such  a  voluble  answer  promising  all, 
lliat  once  again  he  rolPd  his  eyes  upon  her 
Kepeafing  all  he  wish'd,  and  once  again 
She  promised.  * 


AVLMER'S  FIELD. 


wi,;i.  TT  ..  Then  the  third  ntght  after  this, 
I  While  Enoch  slumber'd  motionless  and  pale 
And  Miriam  watch'd  and  doxed  at  intervals' 
l  here  came  so  loud  a  calling  of  the  sea,  ' 
1  hat  all  the  houses  in  the  haven  rang 
He  woke,  he  rose,  he  spread  his  arms  abroad 
Crying  with  a  loud  voice  "  A  sail !  a  sail  I 
I  am  saved  ;  and  so  fell  back  and  spoke  no 
more. 

A.,j    V  ^"  E***  "^'^  '""""K  •''•■oic  soul  away. 
And  when  they  i    ,,ed  him  the  little  port 
Had  seldom  seen  a  costlier  funeral. 


ADDITIONAL     POEMS. 


AYLMER'S  FIELD, 


and,  gilded  dust. 


»793- 

Dust  are  our  frames ; 
our  pride 
Looks  only  for  a  moment  whole  and  sound: 
Like  that  long;buried  body  of  the  king. 
WWK  'y'"8  ^'«t  HVT*  '"'J  ornaments, 

&w.f'  *  1°"*=''  °I^'^^\^  ""  «i'  of  heaven, 
alipt  into  ashes  and  was  found  no  more. 

Here  is  a  story  which  in  rougher  shape 
Came  from  a  grizzled  cripple,  whom  I  saw 
Sunning  himself  m  a  waste  field  alone  — 
Old,  and  a  mine  of  memories —  who  had 

served. 
Lone  since,  a  bygone  Rector  of  the  place, 
And  been  himself  a  part  of  what  he  told. 

Sir  Aylmer  Aylmer,  that  almighty  man, 
1  he  county  God  —  in  whose  capacious  hall. 
Hung  with  a  hundred  shields,  the  family  tree 
Sprang  from  the  midriffof  a  prostrate  king  - 
Whose  blazing  wyvera  weathercock'd  the 

spire. 
Stood  from  his  walls  and  wing'd  his  entrv- 
gates  *  ' 

And  swang  besides  on  many  a  windy  sign  — 
Whose  eyes  from  under  a  pyramidal  head 
ySu  .?'"  ,.*  *'»dows  nothing  save  his  own  — 
What  loveher  of  his  own  had  lie  than  her. 
His  only  child,  his  Edith,  whom  he  loved 
As  heiress  and  not  heir  regretfully  ? 
But  "he  that  marries  her  marries  her  name  " 
1  his  fiat  somewhat  soothed  himself  and  wife 
His  wife  a  faded  beauty  of  the  Baths.  I 

Insipid  as  the  Queen  upon  a  card  ; 
Her  all  of  th^u^ht  and  bearing  hardly  more    | 
•s  nan  nis  Owu  siiadow  in  a  sicidy  sun. 

T  j»i'*"u  "(^OPS.  and  poppy-mingled  com. 
Little  about  it  stirring  save  a  brook  I 
A  sleepy  land  where  under  the  same  wheel 
A  ne  same  old  rut  would  deepen  year  by  year ; 


Where  almost  all  he  viHage  had  one  name ; 
Where  Aylmer  follow'd  Aylmer  at  the  HaU 
And  Avenll  Avenll  at  the  Rectory 
Ihrice  9ver;  so  that  Rectory  and  Hall, 
«ound  in  an  immemorial  intimacy. 
Were  open  to  each  other  ;  tho'  to  dream 
ihat  Love  could  bind  them  closer  well  had 

made 
The  hoar  hair  of  the  Baronet  bristle  up 
With  horror,  worse  than  had  he  heard  his 

pnest 
Preach  an  inverted  scripture,  sons  of  men 
Daughters  of  God ;  so  sleepy  was  the  land. 

And  might  not  Averill,  had  he  will'd  it  so. 
Somewhere  beneath  his  own  low  range  of 

roofs, 
Have  also  set  his  many-shielded  tree  ? 
There  was  an  Aylmer-Averill  marriage  once, 
When  the  red  rose  was  redder  than  itself. 
And  York's  white  rose  as  redas  Lancaster's, 
With  wounded  peace  which  each  had  prick'd 

to  death. 
"Not  prtiven,"  Averill  said,  or  laughingly. 

Some  '^iher  race  of  Averills"-prov'n  or  no. 
What  cared  he  ?  what,  if  other  or  the  same  ? 
He  lean  d  not  on  his  fathers  but  himself. 
But  Leohn,  his  brother,  living  oft 
With  Averill,  and  a  year  or  two  before 
Call'd  to  the  bar,  but  ever  call'd  away 
By  one  low  voice  to  one  dear  neighborhood, 
Would  often,  m  his  walks  with  Edith,  claim 
A  distant  kinship  to  the  gracious  blood 
I  hat  shook  the  heart  of  Edith  hearing  him. 

Sanguine  he  was  :  a  but  less  vivid  hue 
1  han  of  that  islet  in  the  chestnut-bloom 
t  lamed  in  his  cheek ;  and  eager  eyes,  that 

still 
Took  joyful  note  of  all  things  joyful,  beam'd. 
Beneath  a  manehke  mass  of  rolling  gold, 

hef         '^"ghtest,  when  they  dwelt  on 

R.^i'I?,'.wI'?f  P.t"^*''*  ht^Mty,  perfect  else, 
But  subject  to  the  season  or  the  mood, 


hird  ntcht  «ftfr  this, 
motionless  and  pale, 
tl  doled  at  intervala, 
lliiignfthesea, 
le  haven  rang, 
read  his  arms  abroad 
"A  sail !  a«aii  I 
i  back  and  spoke  no 

ig  heroic  soul  away, 
,m  the  little  port 
ier  funeral. 


MS. 


ige  had  one  name ; 
ylmer  at  the  Hall 
;  Rectory 
Dry  and  Hall, 
intimacy, 
tho'  to  dream 
em  closer  well  had 

net  bristle  up 
had  he  heard  his 

re,  sons  of  men 
py  was  the  land. 

lad  he  will'd  it  so, 
jwn  low  range  of 

ielded  tree  ? 
rill  marriage  once, 
Ider  than  itself, 
edas  Lancaster's, 
» each  had  prick'd 

3,  or  laughingly, 
Is"— prov'n  or  no, 
ther  or  the  same  ? 
s  but  himself, 
ing  oft 
two  before 
:all'd  away 
ir  neighborhood, 
'ith  Edith,  claim 
:ious  blood 
[ith  hearing  him. 

ess  vivid  hue 
stnut-bloom 
eager  eyes,  that 

s  joyful,  beam'd, 
rolling  gold, 
:n  they  dwelt  on 

r,  perfect  else, 
the  mood, 


Shone  like  a  mystic  star  between  the  less 
And  greater  glory  varying  to  and  fro, 
We  know  not  wherefore  ;  bounteously  made 
And  yet  so  finely  that  a  troublous  touch  ' 
Thinn  d,  or  would  seem  to  thin  her  in  a  dav 
A  joyous  to  dilate,  as  toward  the  light  ^' 
And  these  liad  been  together  from  the  first 
Leolin  s  first  nurse  was,  five  years  after,  hen- 
noil.'*}  l^"  ^"^  ^'J^"'"'-  ''"'  ^hen  his  da?e 
rwj  i'  ''"i?"'"'  ^"'.'^''"'  °f  playmates,  he 
(Since  Averill  was  a  decade  .ind  a  half 

hI'^  , „?'.''*"'' ,'^^''■  P^""''^^  underground) 

roll'd"  ^°'^  his\ne,  and 

His  hoop  to  pleasure  Edith,  with  her  dipt 
Against  the  rush  of  the  air  in  the  prone 
swing,  i^'uiic 

H;\'''ii!^''°"''''^'L°''.^*'''y  ^''ain,  arranged 
Her  garden,  sow'd  her  name  and  kept  it 
green  '^    "■ 

In  living  letters  told  her  fairy-tales. 
Show  d  her  the  fairy  footings  on  the  grass 
The  lit  le  dells  of  cowslip,  ?airy  palmf     ' 
1  he  petty  marestail  forest,  fairy  pines, 

WhIT  '^fi'"X.Pl"'=^  '«^get  blew      • 
Wha  look'd  a  flight  of  fairy  arrows  aim'd 

For  EZh'"';;''^'"  HV"'"S:  make-belTeves 
l°\  ^t     """f^  h'mself :  or  else  he  forged, 
But  th.it  was  later,  boyish  histories 
Of  battle,  bold  adventure,  dungeon,  wreck 
Flights  terrors,  sudden  rescuesfand  t^e  We 
CroWd  after  trial ;  sketches  rude  and  faint? 
fT.^^^^^  "  P^\''°"  y«'  ""born  perhaps      ' 
^l.Lc^''!?  "   ^-^  "'"*'•=  °f  'he  moon 
AnH^,h  ,"  I'*  P'u'"  "KK*  "f'be  nightingale. 
Or  rimn/"^''"'"'  "''"'  '■"^college-times 
Or  remple-eaten  terms,  a  couple,  fair 
As  ever  painter  painted,  poet  sang, 
AnH  m""  "  '"  l^^"''  ''"""'y  moulded,  grew. 

He  wasted  hours  with  Averill  ;  there,  when 

Jh  •t"l^^u'','"'«'-fieldwas  broken  up 
Into  that  phalanx  of  the  summer  spears 
That  soon  should  wear  the  garland ;  there 

therl  '"'^  ^'"*  "*"*  gather'd:  lastly 
At  Christmas  ;  ever  welcome  at  the  Hall 

yomh  '""'"'^  '"^  '■"""de  of 
Broke  with  a  phosphorescence  cheeringeven 

volS:""  ''''■"=    dull  and  self-in- 

Wi'tWf  !;tf'^'  •  "*  ''"'^'■"S  from  his  height 
And  Si  """^  ""'''^^  '■°'-  a"  'be  world. 
And  migluy  courteous    in    the  main -his 

Lay  deeper  than  to  wear  it  as  his  ring- 
Wnnin'^.:'"  ^>''"e''  in  bis  Aylmerism, 

wlth\e"r°  """*  '"'"■  ^°""''  ^'"^'"8 
Than  for^his  old  Newfoundland's,  when  they 

T»if^'f  5'™  'l'^?  *'«bles,  for  he  rose 
Twofooted  at  the  limit  of  his  chain, 


AVLMER'S  FIELD. 


MI 


a  third ;  and  how  should 


Roaring  to  make 

Love, 
^''°'"jjje^"0"->igbtnings  of  four  chance- 
Flash  into  fiery  ;,fe  from  nothing,  follow 
Such  dear  faniiharities  of  dawn  f 
beldom,  but  when  he  does,  Master  of  all. 

^°  'they  lo'ved?  ''""^  "°'  '"'°*'"«  '^^ 
Not  she  at  least,  nor  conscious  of  a  bar 

Sound"hn'jT''""'  '^yP''>'"  °^  broken  ring 
ijound,  but  an  immerv     al  iniimacv 

Bv  a1"  M.^'k^"'-  ^J       ■'  accoSed 
By  Averill :  his,  a  b...her's  love   that  hung 
With  wings  of  brooding   shelter  o'er  hfr 
peace. 

wim  l^"*'  K'"  """^^     '^«  fo"-  Leolin's- 

Who  knows  .>  but  so  they  wander'd,  hour  by 

hour  ' 

^^"'"dfank'  '''°^*°"  ""'*  rebloom'd,  and 
1  he  magic  cup  that  fiU'd  itself  anew. 


Fn^^^»  jf"  balf  reveal'd  her  to  herself. 
Voca^wth^?'"'  her  lodges,  where  the  brook 
R^illi     "'  '•"*  ^"d  'here  a  silence,  ran 
By  sallowy  rims,  arose  the  laborers'  homes 
;^  frequent  haunt  of  Edith,  on  low  knobi   ' 
ihat  dimpling  died  into  each  other,  huts 

Herfrf  r  t"'^".''''  "'^'^  "  ««'  in  bloom. 
Aboifr'th"     'J''' ''"  ''°""*=' »"  bad  wrought 

blandi'dr'  ^^  °'"'  '''^''  '"""""■ 
Was  parcel-bearded  with  the  traveller's-joy 
In  Autumn  parcel  ivy-clad  ;  ai,d  here       ^ 
1  he  warm  blue  breathings  of  a  hidden  hearth 
On.  I     i?M  ^^°*"  °f  ^'""^  and  honeysuckle  • 
A  rW?""?  all  rosetree,  and  another  wore 
T',;,TJ^   """^^  of  jasmine  sown  with  stars  : 
T.ns  h.id  a  rosy  sea  of  gillyflowers 
About  It :  this  a  milky  way  on  earth, 

heavens'"    ""*   Northern    dreamer's 
A  lily-avenue  climbing  to  the  doors  • 
One,  almost  to  the  martin-haunted  eaves 
A  sumiiier  burial  deep  in  hollyhocks  • 

where'*"  cbarm;  and  Edith's  every- 
And  Edith  ever  visitant  with  him. 
He  but  less  loved  than  Edith,  of  her  poor  • 
For  she  -  so  lowly-lovely  and  so  loving      * 
Queenly  responsive  when  the  loyal  hand 
Rose  from  the  day  it  work'd  in  as  she  past. 
Not  sowmg  hedgerow  texts  and  passing  by 
Nordealmg  goodly  counsel  from  a  height      • 
1  hat  makes  the  lowest  hate  it,  but  a  voice 
Ut  comfort  and  an  open  hand  of  help 
R^Jiri!,  "^  presence  flattering  the  poor  roofs 
Revered  as  theirs,  but  kindlier  than  them- 

56iVcr; 

n?.^i''i'K^T'!?j°''  '**"'"S  'nfancy 
He    i/A"''1'"  P^'^y-  -  ^a«  adored  ; 
He,  loved  for  her  and  for  himself     A  grasp 
Having  the  warmth  and  muscle  of  the1,ea^ 
A  childly  way  with  children,  and  a  laugh 
Ringing  like  proven  golden  coinage  trife 
Were  no  false  passport  to  that  easy  reata, 


A  YLAfER'S  FIELD. 


Where  once  with  I^olin  at  her  side  the  girl 
JNursing  a  child,  and  tuminK  to  the  warmth 
1  he  tender  pmk  five-beaded  baby-soles, 
Heard  the  good  mothersoltly  whisper  "Bless 
Ood    bless   'em  ;    marriages    are    made    in 
neaven 

A  flash  of  semi-jealo  ,3y  dear'd  it  to  her. 

SJy.i  ?°f,'  '"'•'*"  kinsman  unannounced 
With  half  a  scor?  of  swarthy  faces  came. 
His  own,  tho'  kt    n  and  bolcland  soldierly. 
Sear  d  by  the  close  ecliptic,  was  not  fair ; 
tair«  his  talk,  a  tongue  that  ruled  the  hour, 

seeming  boastful:    so  when   first  he 

dish  d 
Into  the  chronicle  of  a  deedful  day, 
Sir  Ayliii.  r  half  forgot  his  lazy  smile 
Of  patron    ''Good  I    my  lad/s  kinsman! 


good  I " 
lady  with  her  fingers  interlock'd, 


•j'y  — J    ...........   iii,|jci3  iiiicnocK'a 

^"iT.i°'?,'?''y  "l^nibs  on  silken  knees, 
Cal  d  all  her  vital  spirits  into  each  ear 
1  o  listen  :  unawares  they  flitted  off. 
Busying  themselves  about  the  flowerage 
Ihat  stood  from  out  a  stiff  brocade  in  which, 
i  he  meteor  of  a  splendid  season,  she 
Once  with  this  kinsman,  ah  so  long  ago, 

I  f.PJy'J^!'?.  "'*  *'*'-?'y  •"!""«'  °^  tRose  days  : 
«ut  Edith  s  eager  fancy  hurried  with  him 

fanatch  d  thro'  the  perilous  passes  of  his  hfe  : 

liU  Leolm  ever  watchful  of  her  eye 

**?'ed  him  with  a  momentary  hate. 

Wife-hunting,  as  the  rumor  ran,  was  he  : 

1  know  not,  for  he  spoke  not,  only  shower'd 

His  onental  gifts  on  every  one 

And  most  on  Edith  :  like  a  storm  he  came, 

And  shook  the  house,  and  like  a  storm  fie 

went. 

Among  the  gifts  he  lefl  her  (possibly 
He  flow'd  and  ebb'd  uncertain,  to  return 
When  others  had  been  tested)  there  was  one 
A  dagger,  in  rich  sheath  with  jewels  on  it 
Sprinkled  about  in  gold  that  branch'd  itself 
tme  as  ice-ferns  on  January  panes 
Made  by  a  breath.    I  know  not  whence  at 

nrst, 
Nor  of  what  race,  the  work  ;  but  as  he  told 
The  story,  storming  a  hill-fort  of  thieves 
He  got  It  ;  for  their  captain  after  fight. 
His  comrades  having  fought  their  last  below, 
Was  climbing  up  the  valley ;  at  whom  he 
shot : 

^"^"cfun'"  *''*  ^«"'ng  crag  to  which  he 

Tumbled  the  tawny  rascal  at  his  feet, 

ihis  da^tger  with  him,  which  when  now  ad- 

mired 
By  Edith  whom  his  pleasure  was  to  please. 
At  once  the  costly  Sahib  yielded  to  her. 


I  Then  playing  with  the  blade  he  prlck'd  hia 

."  ^  gracious  gift  to  give  a  lady,  this  I  " 
But  would  It  be  more  gracious,"  ask'd  the 

"Were  I  to  give  this  gift  of  his  to  one 
Ihat  is  no  lady?"    "Gracious?    No,"  said 

"  Me?- but  I  cared  not  for  it.    0  pardon 

f.J**,'"  ?", be  ungraciousness  itself." 

1  ake  it,    she  added  sweetly,  "  iho'  his  gift ; 
For  I  am  more  uiiBracious  ev'n  than  you, 
I  care  not  for  it  citTier"  ;  and  he  sai/ 

i^A^l  ^t"  ^  "^'."  "  =  ^"'  ^"  Aylmer  past. 
And  neither  loved  nor  liked  the  thing  he 


And  Leolin.  coming  after  he  was  gone, 
lost  over  ail  her  presents  petulantly  : 

*i!:*:"  *- *  ®'>°*'d  the  wealthy  scabbard, 
"^°°^^Vhat  a  lovely  piece  of  workman- 
S"8ht  ws^his  answer  "W?U-I  care  not 


The  next  day  came  a  neighbor.    Blues  sM 
reds 
They  ta'k'd  of:  blues  were  sure  of  it,  he 

'T'^e"  kiU'd      '*'"'  fox -where  started - 
In  such  a  bottom  :  "  Peter  had  the  brush. 
My  Peter,  first":  and  did  Sir  Aylmer  know 
Ihat   great    Dock-pitten    fellow   had    been 

caught? 
Then  made  his  pleasure  echo,  hand  to  hand 
And  rolling  as  it  were  the  substance  of  it 
.7^u  "u"  j"  P^'™*  *  moment  up  and  down  — 
1  he  birds  were  warm,  the  birds  were  warm 
upon  him  ; 
We  have  him  now"  :  and  had  Sir  Aylmer 

heard  — 
Nay,  but^he  must  —  the  land  was  ringing  of 

This  blacksmith-border  marriage  — one  thev 
knew —  ' 

Raw  from  the  nursery  — who  could  trust  a 

chi.tl  ? 
That  cursed  France  with  her  egalities  I 
And  did  Sir  Aylmer  (deferentially 
With    neanng   chair   and   lower'd   accent) 

For  people  talk'd-that  it  was  wholly  wise 
lo  let  that  handsome  fellow  Averill  walk 
So  freely  with  his  daughter?  people  talk'd- 
1  he  bov  might  get  a  notion  into  him  ; 
The  girl  might  be  entangled  ere  she  knew. 
"''?'i?^    •  *,''  ''^y''"er  slowly  stiflTening  spoke  : 
Ihe  girl  and  boy.  Sir,  know  their  differ- 
ences ! " 
"Good,"  said  his  friend,  "but  watch  !"  and 

he  "  Enough, 
More  than  enough.  Sir!    I  can  guard  my 
own."  ^ 

They  parted,  and  Sir  Aylmer  Aylmer  watch'd. 


Pale,  for  on  her  the  thunders  of  the  house 
Had  fallen  first,  was  Edith  that  same  night: 
Pale  as  the  J[ephtha's  daughter,  a  rough  piece 
Of  early  rigid  color  under  whirh 
Withdrawing  by  th4  coJnter'dii^r  to  that 
Which  Leolm  open'd.  she  cast  back  upon  him 
A  piteous  glance,  and  vanish'd.     He,  as  one 
Caught  in  a  burst  of  unexpected  storm. 
And  pelted  with  outrageous  epitbeti, 


I  blade  he  prick'd  hk 

e  a  lady,  this  I " 

B  gracious,"  ask'd  the 

ift  of  his  to  one 
CJracious?    No,"  said 

not  for  it.    O  pardon 

sneM  itself." 
weetiy,  "tho' his  gift; 
3US  ev'n  than  you, 
' ;  and  he  said 
but  Sir  Aylmer  past, 
r  liked  the  thing  he 

neighbor.    Blues  and 

were  sure  of  it,  lie 

c  — where  started  — 

ter  had  the  brush, 
lid  Sir  Aylmer  know 
I    fellow    had    been 

echo,  hand  to  hand, 
e  substance  of  it 
nent  up  and  down  — 
the  birds  were  warm 

nd  had  Sir  Aylmer 

land  was  ringing  of 

narriage— one  they 

■who  could  trust  a 

her  egalities  I 

:rentially 

d   lower'd   accent) 

it  was  wholly  wise 
ow  Averill  walk 
!r?  people  talk'd  — 
^n  into  him  ; 
ed  ere  she  knew. 
■  stiffening  spoke  : 
know  their  differ- 

'  but  watch  I "  and 

I  can  guard  my 

er  Aylmer  watch'd. 

iders  of  the  house 
that  same  night : 
hter,  a  rough  piece 
whirh 

;r  door  to  that 
ast  back  upon  him 
sh'd.     He,  as  one 
ected  storm, 
s  epithet*, 


Turning  beheld  the  Powers  of  the  House       I 
On  either  side  the  hearth,  indignanr-  h J? 
Cooling  her  faNe  cheek  with  a  ?eather-fan 
A,!7fi["'T  ''y^»  °^  stale  devil  spu^'-d 
And.  like  a  Beast  hard-ridden,  breathing  hard    ' 
Ungenerous,  dishonorable,  base       "^    "™- 

ThV".T"°"*'  '•;''"•='' *^''«'*"  with  her. 

lands.""'  '°  "'''■■  ^'"'"''  'heir  i 

The  last  remaining  pillar  of  their  house. 

?hf°"l'i''3"?'"i!'A'"  "^  '*'«''■  ancient  name. 
Their  child."     "Our  child  I"     "Our  her- 
ess!"     "Ours  I"  for  still,    '^""'«"- 
Like  echoes  from  beyond  a  hollow,  came 
Her  sicklier  Iteration.     Last  he  said 

\ak       *"*  '  '°''  ^°"'^  fortunes  are  to 

Now'fn?.""  '"Jf "  "°'  "l^'''^  'hem  out  of  mine. 
Now  inasmuch  as  you  have  pr.ictised  on  her 
Perplext  her,  made  her  half  forget  herself 
Swerve  from  her  duty  to  herself^and  us - 
1  hiiigs  in  an  Aylmer  deem'd  impossible 
Far  as  we  track  ourselves  - 1  say  that  th^;  - 
E  se  I  withdraw  favor  and  countenance    ' 
From  you  and  yours  forever- shall  you  do 

'  se'h^J"  •'"-""'  yo"  "Htt 
No  you  shall  write,  and  not  to  her.  but  me  • 
And  you  shall  say  that  having  spoken  wi?h 

And  after'look'd  into  yourself,  you  find 
That  j,ou^meantnothing-a^  indeed  you  I 
That  y^-j  meant  nothing.     Such  a  match  as 

aT  mefin  ?;  P|;?''''«'°"'' ' "  These  were  words, 
AS  meted  by  his  measure  of  himself 
Arguing  boundless  forbearance  :  after  which 
And  Leolm's  horror-stricken  answer,  "I      ' 
So  foul  a  traitor  to  myself  and  her 
Never.  O. never,"  for  about  as  long 

Sir  Avlmert^r*^  '''?«^  '"  balance,  paused 
iWk    l"'^'l*"'".S  f'°'^  the  storm  within 

"  Bov  ,h^'M"r'i:°"i''  °^ *^°""=«y'  and  cryi  ,g 
Boy,  should  I  find  you  by  mv  door<!  a/JirT 

HJn?'?.f'''''.l"h  yoi  fronuhem  hke  a  fo e 
Th»  f"  V. "^'.'^  ^  »"'^''«n  execration  drove^ ' 
The  footstool  from  before  him,  and  arose 
So,  stammering  "scoundrel"  out  of  teeth 
.     that  ground  "^'" 

Retrea1.Mf"'  I'""',  ^^ile  Leolin  still 
F^  i!.   m'*  half-aghast,  the  fierce  old  man 
Follovy'd.  and  under  his  own  lintel  stood 
Storming  wuh  lifted  hands,  a  hoaVy  face 
Meet  for^the  reverence  of  the  hl^'t"  but 

Vexf  wilh",'"'''  tl^  "nimpassion'd  moon. 
Vext  with  unworthy  madness,  and  deforrli'd. 


A  YLMnR'S  FIELD. 


wlfom  V''  ^r"*;  '""•  hwrt  at  Averill-s  ear  : 
Whom  AveriU  solaced  as  he  might.  amaVed  • 

7rie"nr  ^"^  ^^^  '''"  ^i'  fXrl." 

He  mntl  'hT  *t"'  himself  had  seen  it  long  ; 

besides!        *"'  '''•"^'''^  had  known! 

I  HerSTI'h'l"  '"*'  •"  '''':  ''""Khter  forth 
Wh/ri  n..^T*"'"i""'?'''"»  °f  the  west. 

i;ain  d,  and,    ,  bw.nng in    •.s-.lf  the  sham, 
rhe  woman  s  ,o.v    l.avo  b.   le   humiS 
I   ived  for  yea     .    .,,„.ed  «;  .less  life  '• 
S"  fi"°"'-So.  '  ruent.  ...St  away  ' 
Watchmg^your  ;      ,;.,   ,  deem'd  ^again  to 

Leolin.  I  almost  sin  in  envying  you  : 
The  very  whitest  lamb  in  all  my  fold 

'"sreVas  ''""^  *""■  =  ""*  ^°"'  thought 
Is  whiter  even  than  her  pretty  hand  • 

"fighr"""  **""'  ■■  ''°''' '"°"'"'  ^''he"  two 

The  strongest  wins,  and  truth  and  love  are 
strength,  ™ 

And  you  are  happy  :  let  her  parents  be." 


'VviTt^.  l".^  "'.nscious  of  the  rageful  eye 

^ufdoor*'""'  ""  ""'  •'"^'^  '"^^  P°"de'- 

^^°'^'lan?'"*'  *''''  '°"S  *"=hoes  thro'  the 

aI^TL^'?''"  ',*!??"•  h's  passions  all  in  flood 
And  masters  of  his  motion,  furiously 

.Si,       •  ''"«^*  ''*^»  »°  hisLother'. 


But  Leolin  cried  out  the  more  upon  them— 
Insolent,  brainless,  heartless  I  heir«s,  weaTth 

was'lhl"'"''"  ''"'"^'  w-'a'th'enoug,; 
was  theirs  * 

For  twenty  matches.     Were  he  lord  of  thi^ 

Why  twenty  boys  and  giris  should  nmr^  on 

And  fortv  blest  ones  bless  him.  and  himself 

ThirfilthV""'  »y--'|hier.;  He  bSd 

made    '"^"'^Se- hindering    Mammon 

The  hariot  of  the  cities  :  nature  crost 
Was  mother  of  the  foul  adulteries 

Mm"'*  *°"^*''h  body.    Name,  tool 

^*"''fts'wirth""*'  ''"=>"«'>*'  he  proud; 
^"  'loJk^,/'^"h's.    Ah  how  pale  she  had 

Bevinf'in  ,  *?'"  '  'hey  must  have  rated  her 
Beyond  all  tolerance.     These  old  pheasant- 
lords, 

WhThf/'"^^*"'','^^'''"?"'"^'  thousand  years. 
nothTn  '"        '  thousands,  doing 

Since  Egbert -why,  the  greater  their  dis- 

grace  ! 
Fall  back  upon  a  name  I  rest,  rot  in  th»f  r 
W^k^^'^k"  ""'''''  "''''«  "  nobler?  fools, " 
wi  L!."£    *  vantage-ground  for  nobleness  ! 
The  life  „nP  *  ""k"'  *  quintessence  of  man. 
TK  J  u*"  ~  *^°  ™a<l'y  ioved  —  and  he 

H^^''"';'*i'L°1?r°^  *hese  old  father-fools.   ' 
H-      '°\l^  h'" ''fe  out,  and  made  an  end. 
He  WQuld  not  do  it  I  her  sweet  face  wd  ftitb 


»H 


AYLMER'S  FIELD. 


Held  him  from  that :  but  he  had  powers,  he 

knew  it  : 
Back  would  he  to  his  studies,  make  a  name, 
JVame,  fortune  too :  the  world  should  rine  of 

him  " 

To  shame  these  mouldy  Aylmers  in  their 

graves  : 
Chancellor,  or  what  is  greatest  would  he 

be  — 
"O  brother,    I  am  grieved  to  learn  your 

grief— 
Give  me  my  fling,  and  let  me  say  my  say." 


At  which,  like  one  that  sees  his  own  excess. 
And  easily  forgives  it  as  his  own. 
He  Jaugh'd ;  and  then  was  mute ;  but  pres- 
ently 
Wept  like  a  storm :  and  honest  Averill  seeing 
How  low  his  brother's  mood  had  fallen? 

_  fetch'd 
His  richest  beeswing  from  a  binn  reserved 
For  banquets,  praised  the  waning  red,  and 

told 
The  vintage  — when  this  Aylmer  came  of 

age  — 
Then  drank  and  past  it :  till  at  length  the 

two, 
Tho'  Leolin  flamed  and  fell  again,  agreed 
iliat  much  allowance  must  be  made  for  men 
After  an  angry  dream  this  kindlier  glow 
faded  with  morning,  but  his  purpose  held. 

Yet  once  by  night  again  the  lovers  met, 
A  perilous  meeting  under  the  tall  pines 
7  hat  darken'd  all  the  northward  of  her  Hall. 
Him,  to  her  meek  and  modest  bosom  prest 
In  agony,  she  promised  that  no  force. 
Persuasion,  no,  nor  death  could  alter  her : 
He,  passionately  hopefuller,  would  go, 
Labor  for  his  own  Edith,  and  return 
In  such  a  sunlight  of  prosperity 
He  should  not  be  rejected.     "  Write  to  me  I 
1  hey  loved  me,  and  because  I  loved  their 

child 
They  hate  me :   there  is  war  between  us. 

dear,  ' 

Which  breaks  all  bonds  but  ours ;  we  must 

remain 
Sacred  to  one  another."    So  they  talk'd. 
Poor  children,  for  their  comfort :  the  wind 

blew ; 
The  rain  of  heaven,  and  their  own  bitter 

tears. 
Tears,  and  the  careless  rain  of  heaven,  mixt 
Upon  their  faces,  as  they  kiss'd  each  other 
In  darkness,  and  above  them  roar'd  the  pine. 

So  Leolin  went ;  and  as  we  task  ourselves 
10  learn  a  language  known  but  smatteringly 
Jn  phrases  here  and  there  at  random,  toird 
Mastering  the  lawless  science  of  our     w, 
That  codeless  myriad  of  precedent. 
That  wilderness  of  single  instances, 
1  hro^  which  a  few,  by  wit  or  fortune  led, 
fti-y  peat  a  pathway  out  to  wealth  a .  ■"  fame. 
Xhe  jests,  that  flash'd  about  the  p.eader's 

room, 
J-ightning  of  the  hour,  the  pun,  the  scurril- 
OH»tale,-^ 


Old  scandals  buried  now  seven  decades  deeo 
In  other  scandals  that  have  lived  and  died 
And  left  the  living  scandal  that  shall  die- 
Were  dead  to  him  already  ;  bent  as  he  was 
lo  make  disproof  of  scorn,  and  strong  in 

And  prodigal  of  all  brain-labor  he. 
Charier  of  sleep,  and  wine  and  exercise. 
Lxcept  when  for  a  breathing- while  at  eve 
borne  niggard  fraction  of  an  hour  he  ran 
Beside  the  river-bank  :  and  then  indeed 
Harder  the  times  were,  and  the  hands  of 
power 

Were  bloodier,  and  the  according  hearts  of 
men 

Sfu^u'')^^''^^'"  *°°  '• ''"'  the  soft  river-breeze. 
Which  fann'd  the  gardens  of  that  rival  rose 
vet  fragrant  m  a  heart  remembering 
His  former  talks  with  Edith,  on  hinilireathed 
t'ar  pureher  in  his  rushings  to  and  fro. 
After  his  books,  to  flush  his  blood  with  air, 
1  hen  to  his  books  again.     My  lady's  cousin. 
Half-sickening  of  his  pensioned  afternoon, 
Drove  in  uj.  an  the  student  once  or  twice, 
Kan  a  Malayan  muck  against  the  times. 
Had  golden  hopes  for  France  and  all  man- 
kind, 
Answer'd  all  queries  touching  those  at  home 
With  a  heaved  shoulder  and  a  saucy  smile, 
And  fain  had  haled  him  out  into  the  world, 
And  air  d  him  there  :  his  nearer  friend  would 

say, 
"Screw  not  the  cord  too  sharply  lest   it 

snap." 
Then  left  alone  he  pluck'd  her  dagger  forth 
From  where  his  worldless  heart  had  kept  it 

warm, 
KiMing  his  vows  upon  it  like  a  knight. 
And  wrinkled  benchers  often  talk'd  of  him 
Approvingly,  and  prophesied  his  rise  : 
For  heart,  I  think,  help'd  head  :  her  letters 

too, 
Tho'  far  between,  and  coming  fitfully 
Like  broken  music,  written  as  she  found 
Or  made  occasion,  being  strictly  watch'd. 
Charm  d  him  thro'  every  labyrinth  till  he  saw 
An  end,  a  hope,  a  light  breaking  upon  him. 

But  they  that  cast  her  spirit  into  flesh, 
Her  worldly-wise  begetters,  plagued  them- 
selves. 
To  sell  her,  those  good  parents,  for  her  good. 
Whatever  eldest-bom  of  rank  or  wealth 
Might     .!  within  their  compass,  him  they 

lured 
Into  their  net  made  pleasant  by  the  baits 
Of  gold  and  beauty,  wooing  him  to  woo. 
So  month  by  month  the  noise  about  their 

doors. 
And  distant  blaze  of  those  dull  banquets. 

made 
The  nightly  wirer  of  their  innocent  hare 
falter  before  he  took  it.     AH  ir.  vair,. 
Sullen,  defiant,  pitying,  wrothrretiira'd 
Leohn  s  reiected  rivals  from  their  suit 
So  often,  that  the  folly  taking  wings 
Slipt  o  er  those  lazy  limits  down  the  wind 
/Jth  rumor,  and  became  in  other  fl9l4» 


V  seven  decades  deep 
lave  lived  and  died, 
dal  that  shall  die  — 
dy  ;  bent  as  he  was 
corn,  and  strong  in 

n-Iabor  he, 
ine  and  exercise, 
hing-while  at  eve 
>(  an  hour  he  ran 
and  then  indeed 
I,  and  the  hands  of 

according  hearts  of 

the  soft  river-breeze, 
ns  of  that  rival  rose 
einetnbering 
lith,  on  him  breathed 
ngs  to  and  fro, 
his  blood  with  air, 
.     My  lady's  cousin, 
nsioiied  afternoon, 
nt  once  or  twice, 
ainst  the  times, 
France  and  all  man- 

:hing  those  at  home 
and  a  saucy  smile, 
out  into  the  world, 
nearer  friend  would 

00  sharply  lest   it 

d  her  dagger  forth 
5  heart  had  kept  it 

like  a  knight, 
ften  talk'd  of  him 
sied  his  rise : 

1  head :  her  letters 

ning  fitfully 
n  as  she  found 
Jtrictly  watch'd, 
abyrinth  till  he  saw 
caking  upon  him. 

Dirit  into  flesh, 
irs,  plagued  theni- 

rents,  for  her  good, 
ank  or  wealth 
)mpass,  him  they 

nt  by  the  baits 
ig  him  to  woo. 
noise  about  their 

se  dull  banquets, 

innocent  hare 
Ml  !!i  v.-.in, 
oth,  retum'd 
n  their  suit 
ng  wines 
down  the  wind 
1  other  i)^14s 


f  "?°f ''eV  to  the  yeomen  over  ale 

And  laughter  to  their  lords:  but' those  at 

Thi'.""!?"  '■?""''  *  ''»°ted  creature  draw 

&'1 """.  4°  "^«  h"ol.s\"iTv'e"nf  '" ' 
Then  dosed  her  acces.s  to   the 'wealthier 

Kept  color:  wondrous  I  but,  Omysterv- 
There  the  nnanorial  lord  too  curiouslv 


AYLMER'S  FIELD. 


aaS 


A  ^r.^!  J  ,  raonient  t^o  n's  emissarv 


out  a 


despot 


Thenceforward   oft   from 

dream  — i- 

^"""'»ii'r'"'°°"'"""»  ■»>"«i^  who 

ScaSn  ^?'  '"'^  1«*^  diminutives 
Of  such  ,1   °''^''  •,^.«  vocabulary 

self—         '"  °        "Sn'i  sustnm  hnu- 


o,  w"'!'!  ""»"•'  of  hU  ftded  love 

?L^  rf  •  f  '•'*'  '«•  '»"rt'"S  the  hurt  - 
Save  Christ  as  we  believe  lim-found  the 

And  flung  her  down  upon  a  couch  of  fir^ 
She,  and  w.u,  h„  .fc  ^,  „,  ^"-^o.  ^_ 

s.fe;teaVor«^r"' 

D,d  the  W  shriek.  .■Ye,  love,  yes  Edith. 

v.,?h?£'d''rif,r£ri.Sdiif- 


^'11 


336 


AYLMER'S  FIELD. 


Scarce  touch'd  her  thro'  that  nearness  of  the 

first, 
And  being  used  to  find  her  pastor  texts. 
Sent  to  the  harrow'd  brother,  praying  him 
To  speak  before  the  people  of  her  child, 
And  fixt  the  Sabbath.     Darkly  that  day  rose : 
Autumn's  mock  sunshine  of  the  faded  woods 
Was  all  the  life  of  it ;  for  hard  on  these, 
A  breathless  burthen  of  low-folded  heavens 
Stifled  and  chill'd  at  once  :  but  every  roof 
Sent  out  a  listener :  many  too  had  known 
Edith  among  the  hamlets  round,  and  since 
The  parents  harshness  and  the  hapless  loves 
And  double  death  were  widely  niurmur'd, 

left 
Their  own  gray  tower,  or  plain-faced  taber- 
nacle, 
To  hear  him ;  all  in  mourning  these,  and 

those 
With  blots  of  it  about  them,  ribbon,  glove 
Or  kerchief;  while  the  church,  —  one  night, 

except 
For  greenish  glimmerings  thro' the  lancets, 

—  made 
Still  paler  the  pale  head  of  him,  who  tower'd 
Above  them,  with  his  hopes  in  either  grave. 

Long  o'er  his  bent  brows  linger'd  Averill, 
His  face  magnetic  to  the  hand  from  which 
Livid  he  pluck'd  it  forth,  and  labor'd  thro' 
His  brief  prayer-prelude,  gave  the  verse  "  Be- 
hold, 
Your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate  ! " 
But  lapsed  into  so  long  a  pause  again 
As  half  amazed,  half  frighted  all  his  flock: 
Then  from  his  height  and  loneliness  of  grief 
Bore  down  in  flood,  and  dash'd  his  angry 

heart 
Against  the  desolations  of  the  world. 

Never  since  our  bad  earth  became  one  sea, 
Which  rolling  o'er  the  palaces  of  the  proud. 
And  all  but  those  who  knew  the  living  God- 
Eight  that  were  left  to  make  a  purer  world— 
When    since    had    flood,   fire,    earthquake, 

thunder,  wrought 
Such  waste  and  havoc  as  the  idolatries, 
Which  from  the  low  light  of  mortality 
Shot  up  their  shadows  to  the  Heaven  of 

Heavens, 
A'nd  worshipt  their  own  darkness   as    ths 

Highest  ? 
"Gash  thyself,  priest,  and  honor  thy  brute 

Baal, 
And  to  thy  worst  self  sacrifice  thyself. 
For  with  thy  worst  self  hast  thou  clothed  thy 

Then  came  a  Lord  in  no  wise  like  to  Baal. 
The  babe  shall  lead  the  lion.     Surely  now 
The  wilderness  shall  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Crown  thyself,  worm,  and  worship  thine  own 

lusts  I  — 
IMG  coarse  aud  blockish  God  of  acreage 
Stands  at  thy  gate  for  thee  to  grovel  to  — 
Thy  God  is  far  diffused  in  noble  groves 
And  princely  halls,  and  farms,  and  flowing 

lawns, 
And  heaps  of  living  gold  that  daily  grow. 


And  title-scrolls  and  gorgeous  heraldries. 
In  such  a  shape  dost  thou  behold  thy  God. 
Thou  wilt  not  gash  thy  flesh  for  him;  for 

thine 
Fares  richly,  in  fine  linen,  not  a  hair 
Ruffled  upon  the  scarfskir,  even  while 
The  deathless  ruler  of  thy  dying  housu 
Is  wounded  to  the  death  that  cannot  die ; 
And  tho'  thou  numberest  with  the  followers 
Of  One  who  cried  "  Leave  all  and  follow  me." 
Thee  therefore  with  His  light  about  thy  feet, 
Thee  with  His  message  ringing  in  thine  ears. 
Thee  shall  thy  brother  man,  the  Lord  from 

Heaven, 
Bom  of  a  village  giri,  carpenter's  son. 
Wonderful,  Pnnce  of  peace,  the  Mighty  God, 
Count  the  more  base  idolater  of  the  two  ; 
Crueller  :  as  not  passing  thro'  the  fire 
Bodies,  but  souls— thy  children's— thro' the 

smoke. 
The  blight  of  low  desires  —  darkening  thine 

own 
Tn  thine  own  likeness  ;  or  if  one  of  these. 
Thy  better  bom  unhappily  from  thee, 
Should,   as  by  miracle,  grow  straight  and 

fair  — 
Friends,  I  was  bid  to  speak  of  such  a  one 
By  those  who  most  have  cause  to  sorrow  for 

her  — 
Fairer  than  Rachel  by  the  palmy  well. 
Fairer  than  Ruth  among  the  fields  of  com, 
Fair  as  the  Angel  that  said   "hail"  she 

seem'd. 
Who  entering  fill'd  the  house  with  sudden 

light. 
For  so  mine  own  was  brighten'd  :  where  in- 
deed 
The  roof  so  lowly  but  that  beam  of  Heaven 
Dawn'd  sometimes  thro'  the  doorway  ?  whose 

the  babe 
Too  ragged  to  be  fondled  on  her  lap, 
Warm'd  at  her.bosom?    The  poor  child  of 

shame. 
The  common  care  whom  no  one  cared  for, 

leapt 
To  greet  her,  wasting  his  forgotten  heart, 
As  with  the  mother  he  had  never  known. 
In  gambols ;  for  her  fresh  and  innocent  eyes 
Had  such  a  star  of  mouiinK  in  their  blue. 
That  all  neglected  pl4P  of  the  field 
Broke  into  nature's  nt^c  when  thejr  saw  her. 
Low  was  her  voice,  but  won  mysterious  way 
Thro'  the  seal'd  ear,  to  which  a  louder  one 
Was  all  but  silence  —  free  of  alms  her  hand  — 
The  hand  that  robed  your  cottage-walls  with 

flowers 
Has  olten  toil'd  to  clothe  your  little  ones  ; 
How  often  placed  upon  the  sick  roan's  brow 
Cool'd  it,  or  laid  his  feverous  pillow  smooth  ! 
Had  you  one  sorrow  and  she  shared  it  not  ? 
One  burthen  and  she  would  not  lighten  it.> 
One  spiritual  doubt  she  did  not  soothe  ? 
Or  w  hen  some  heat  of  difference  sparkled  out, 
How  sweetly  would  she  glide  between  your 

wraths, 
And  steal  you  from  each  other  I  for  she  walk'd 
Wearing  the  light  yoke  of  that  Lord  of  love. 
Who  still'd  the  rolling  wave  of  Galilee  I 


rgeous  heraldries, 
uu  behold  thy  God. 
y  flesh  for  Aim;  for 

;n,  not  a  hair 
cir,  even  while 
hy  dying  house 
h  that  cannot  die  ; 
St  with  the  followers 
ve  all  and  follow  me." 
s  light  about  thy  feet, 
:  ringing  in  thine  ears, 
man,  the  Lord  from 

irpenter's  son, 
ace,  the  Mighty  God, 
olater  of  the  two  ; 
;  thro'  the  fire 
children's — thro'  the 

es  —  darkening  thine 

or  if  one  of  these, 

)ily  from  thee, 

,  grow  straight  and 

leak  of  such  a  one 
e  cause  to  sorrow  for 

he  palmy  well, 
gthe  fields  of  com, 
at  said   "hail"  she 

:  house  with  sudden 

righten'd  :  where  in- 

hat  beam  of  Heaven 
the  doorway?  whose 

d  on  her  lap, 

'    The  poor  child  of 

m  no  one  cared  for, 

is  forgotten  heart, 
lad  never  known, 
ih  and  innocent  eyes 

Iing  in  their  blue, 
of  the  field 
ic  when  thejr  saw  her. 
won  mysterious  way 
which  a  louder  one 
e  of  alms  her  hand  — 
ur  cottage-walls  with 

le  your  little  onns  ; 
the  sick  roan's  brow 
erous  pillow  smooth  1 
1  she  shared  it  not  ? 
>uld  not  lighten  it? 
did  not  soothe? 
ference  sparkled  out, 
!  glide  between  your 

)therl  forshewalli'd 
jf  that  Lord  of  love, 
ave  of  Galilee  I 


Wa^al  waTstitnJr'^r  *»* '''d  »°  «Peak - 
Him  too/ouToved  fortr  ^°''  »'^°  l^new. 
And  these  had  bleA  toifl'^'^r  """"^^  '°^«- 
They  raieht  hav,.  l" „  ^*"'=';  ^f""  "le  first ; 

My  hous.  ,s  left  unto  me  desoTale!"     ' 


AVLME^f'S  FIELD. 


427 


-out  yonder 


Wh.lMhushespoko.hishearerswept;but 
Sons  of  the,  glebe,  with  other  frowns  than 

^'''"  SwI'd"""*'""  '■'"■  ^""""-r  shadow, 
Atthdr^greatlord.     He,  when  it  seem'd  he 

O  "tL'ttltStr  •'■^'^™  ^^-' ''"'  f-k'd 
Sat  anger  charm^J  ?"'"  ^""'"S  at  his  head, 

Erect  f  but    when    Z  '°''''°T'  -""'dier-like, 
flow'd  •'"'  P'-^acher's  cadence 

oiusi  cnud,  the  wife,  who  wafHiM  k:    I  h^l      '"<-ume—  -- 

"Or  surelylshall  shame  myself  and  him." 


To  inflame  the  tribes  ;but'there 
.  ,     —earth  --.^-..vAcr 

L.gntens^from  her  own  central  Hell -o 

Th^  h^'^i'''"'^°f.^"  °ld  idolatry - 

Ihe  heads  of  chiefs  and  princes  fall  ,„  f,  . 

T'  la^  d"!,r3te  '■"  '^'^  Siy'L'k'!:'' 

Fiash'from    he' tr  d^r  and'l  '"""''^^^'^^ 
France,  ^*'  ''"'*  ever-murder'd 

By  shores  that  darken  with  the  gathering 

b.-ig  ""^^  "^"""e  accomplish'd 

'''"'"■  g°rrei"^  ''^'"  -"h  sorrow  to  the 
Who  broke  the  bond  which  they  desired  to 

'^"'^'to^S.i'e'i""''''^"'-""  with  time. 


:^ood —  -o — •  i. 

Poor  .souls.^and  knew  not  what  they  did. 
Ignorant.^deW.-„g    .heir    own    daughter's 

bare?  ^"''  ^^verence  left  them 

Will  ."hi  ^""'her  take  their  heritage ' 
Kv^^^a^S  fctS".;:^ '^"^'''-^ "heirhaU 

i    'heV^n'o  ZZK.h'^  "^■^«  ""^"''r-s  -  I  That"?  T.^"'^  °'  '^  "  ^"ighuhing 

Doom  upo„''krgrorttt;a":L^'fe^1%  friend:  ^""''  "'"'  ''°^'>  »"-'  --ient 

fe-our  own  child  on  th.  L^..  .^^-t   ?     J^n^    ,  ^^^ 

Vour  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate  •?" 


''"'yUrarS'''''"^-^--'^"  beside 

know?,  """^  "'^'  '^'"«'.  I'adst  thou 
'^•- thinS^beSi'fo^?,  "-»  ""derstood 


Is  no  our  ow,  child  nn   k   ^'"^'^  '  ^'^Pe-   ^ 
Who  down  to   hose  th?.""  ""'"^^^  *ay. 
Cries  '  Come  up  hUhe,  .  .Ti"'"'  '"u  '^'  ^road 

Am'lo^  eheT  TrkerT.^r,'?^^^.'  and  myself 

Give  me  yiur"?ra;e«'''&'h^  ""^  '"' =' 
>,       prayers,    ''"y^"'  fo*^  he  is  past  your 

But  fVtt'tV''^'''  ^f  pity  in  Heaven 
meek,      ""^''*  '"^^^'f  '""g-uSg, 

Hav'/ti: P?T.J"..^Pi"t ' -how  the  word, 
^.       mean    ■   '"'^"   "P°"   "'^"'seives  and 

J""tyZ-^°--P-d-Iwish.d 

To'b!owCffi^'''tr^'''<'fGod 
Sent  like  thTt-Kia";SS^^^ 


Endecl  ^he  had  not.  but  she  brook'd  no 
Of  meanness  fn  her7nS,1„'L"irr '  ^  ^<=''^« 


fJ 


sll 


SEA   DREAMS. 


His  face  with  the  other,  and  at  once,  as  falls 
A  creeper  when  the  prop  is  broken,  fell 
Thewoman  shrieking  at  his  feet,  and  swoon'd. 
Then  her  own  people  bore  alotig  the  nave 
Her  pendent  hands,  and  narrow  meagre  face 
Seam'd  with  the  shallow  cares  of  fifty  years : 
And  her  the  lord  of  all  tho  landscape  round 
Ev'n  to  its  'ast  horizon,  and  of  all 
Who  peer'd  at  him  so  keenly,  foUow'd  out 
Tall  and  erect,  but  in  the  middle  aisle 
Reel'd,  as  a  footsore  ox  in  crowded  ways 
Stumbling  across  the  market  to  his  death 
Unpitied ;  for  he  groped  as  blind,  and  seem'd 
Always  about  to  fall,  grasping  the  pews 
And  oaken  finials  till  he  touch'd  the  door ; 
Yet  to  the  lychgate,  where  his  chariot  stood. 
Strode  from  the  porch,  tall  and  erect  again. 

But  nevermore  did  either  pass  the  gate 
Save  ii.der  pall  with  bearers.    In  one  month. 
Thro'  weary  and  yet  ever  wearier  hours. 
The  chiMJess  mother  went  to  seek  her  child; 
And  when  he  felt  the  silence  of  his  house 
About  him,  and  the  change  and  not  the 

change. 
And  those  fixt  eyes  of  painted  ancestors 
Staring  forever  from  their  gilded  walls 
On  him  their  last  descendant,  V' •  6wa  head 
Began  to  droop,  to  fall ;  the  man  became 
Imbecile ;  his  one  word  was  "  desolate  "  ; 
Dead  for  two  years  before  his  death  was  he  ; 
But  when  the  second  Christmas  came,  es- 
caped 
His  keepers,  and  the  silence  which  he  felt, 
To  .find  a  deeper  in  the  narrow  gloom 
By  wife  and  child ;  nor  wanted  at  his  end 
The  dark  retinue  reverencing  death 
Atgolden  thresholds; ;  .lor  from  tender  hearts. 
And  those  who  sorrow'  :  o'er  a  vanish'd  race. 
Pity,  the  violet  on  the  tyrant's  grave. 
Then  the  great  Hall  was  wholly  broken  down. 
And  the  broad  woodland  parcell'd  into  farms ; 
And  where  the  two  contrived  their  dnughter's 

Lies  the  hawk's  cast,  the  mole  has  made  his 

run. 
The  hedgehop  underneath  the  plantain  bores, 
The  rabbit  fondles  his  own  harmless  face. 
The  slow-worm  creeps,  a.id  the  thin  weasel 

there 
Follows  the  mouse,  and  all  is  open  field. 


SEA   DREAMS. 

A  CITY  clerk,  but  gently  born  and  bred  ; 
His  wife,  an  unknown  artist's  orphan  child  — 
One  babe  was  theirs,  a  Margaret,  three  years 

old : 
They,  thinking  that  her  clear  germander  eye 
Droopt  in  the  giant-factoried  city-glooni. 


Came,  with  a  month's  leave 


them,  to 


the  sea : 
For  which  his  gains  were  dock'd,  however 

small : 
Small  were  his  gains,  and  hard  his  work; 

besides, 


Their  slender  household  fortunes  (for  the  man 
Had  risk'd  his  little)  like  the  little  thrift, 
Trembled  in  perilous  places  o'er  a  deep  ; 
And  oft,  when  sitting  all  alone,  his  face 
Would  darken,  as  he  cursed  his  credulous- 

ness, 
And  that  one  unctuous  mouth  which  lured 

him,  rogue. 
To  buy  strange  shares  in  some  Peruvian 

mine. 
Now  seaward-bound  for  health  they  g&in'd  a 

coast. 
All  sand  and  cliff  and  deep-inrunning  cave. 
At  close  of  day;  slept,  woke,  and  went  the 

next. 
The  Sabbath,  pious  variers  from  the  church, 
lo  chapel ;  where  a  heated  pulpiteer. 
Not  preaching  simple  Christ  to  simple  men, 
Announced  the  coming  doom,  and  fulminated 
Against  the  scarlet  woman  and  her  creed  • 
For  sideways  up  he  swung  his  arm.',  and 

shriek'd, 
"Thus,  thus  with  violence,'"  ev'n  as  if  he 

held 
The  Apocalyptic  millstone,  and  himself 
Were  that  great  Angel ;  "  thus  with  violence 
bhall  Babylon  be  cast  into  the  sea ; 
Then  comes  the  close."    The  gentle-hearted 

wife 
Sat  shuddering  at  the  ruin  of  a  world ; 
He  at  his  own :  but  when  the  wordy  storm 
Had  ended,  forth  they  came  and  paced  the 

_  shore, 
Ran  in  and  out  the  long  sea-filming  caves. 
Drank  the  large  air,  and  saw,  but  scarce  be- 

.  lieved 
(The  sootflake  of  so  many  a  summer  still 
Clung  to  their  fancies)  that  they  saw,  the  sea. 
So  now  on  sand  they  walk'd,  and  now  on 

cliff, 
LingerinK  about  the  thymy  promontories, 
Till  all  the  sails  were  darken'd  in  the  «">■ 


-. — -„...^„  u  „.  i„c  ,vest. 

And  rosed  in  the  east :  thon  homeward  and  to 

bed : 
Where  she,  who  kept  a  tender  Christian  hope 
Haunting  a  holy  text,  and  still  to  that 
Returning,  as  the  bird  returns,  at  night, 
'  Let  not  the  sun  ^o  down  upon  your  wrath," 
Said,  "Love,  forgive  him":  but  he  did  not 

speak ; 
And  silenced  by  that  silence  lay  the  wife, 
Remembering  be/  dear  Lord  who  died  for 

all, 
And  musing  on  the  little  lives  of  men. 
And  how  they  mar  this  little  by  their  feuds. 

But  while  the  two  were  sleeping,  a  full  tide 
Rose  with  ground-swell,  which,  on  the  fore- 
most rocks 
Touching,   upjetted  in  spirts  of  wild  sea- 

sm-  'ce. 
And  scaled  in  sheets  of  wasteful  foam,  and 

fe!i 
In  vast  sea-cataracts—  ever  and  anon 
Dead  claps  of  thunder  from  within  the  tiiff; 
Heard  thro'  the  living  roar.    At  this  the  b.il  o, 
Their  Margaret  cradled  near  them,  waii'd 
and  woke 


« 


i  fortunes  (for  the  man 
ko  the  little  thrift, 
laces  o'er  a  deep  ; 
11  alone,  his  face 
cursed  his  credulous- 

s  mouth  which  lured 

s  in  some  Peruvian 

r  health  they  g:,in'd  a 

eep-inrunning  cave, 
woke,  and  went  the 

iers  from  the  church, 
ited  pulpiteer, 
Christ  to  simple  men, 
ioom,  and  fulminated 
lan  and  her  creed: 
ming  his  arm?,  and 

ince,"  ev'n  as  if  he 

«e,  and  himself 
"thus  with  violence 
ito  the  sea ; 
The  gentle-hearted 

lin  of  a  world  ; 
in  the  wordy  storm 
came  and  paced  the 

sea-framing  caves, 
saw,  but  scarce  be- 

ly  a  summer  still 
lat  they  saw,  the  sea. 
walk'd,  and  now  on 

my  promontories, 
rken'd  in  the  ivest, 
ion  homeward  and  to 

snder  Christian  hope 
id  still  to  that 
:tums,  at  night, 
'n  upon  your  wrath," 
n":  but  he  did  not 

mce  lay  the  wife, 
Lord  who  died  for 

lives  of  men, 
ittle  by  their  leuds. 

!  sleeping,  a  full  tide 
which,  on  the  fore- 
spirts  of  wild  sea- 
wasteful  foam,  and 

^er  and  anon 
Dm  within  the  tiifT; 
r.    Atthis  theb.il.o, 
near  them,  waii'd 


( 


ing  said,  ^""'  "•  ^"d  groan- 


•S£A   DREAMS. 


ail) 


"  Forgive  I  How  many  will  ««  «  r-      ■      , 
and  find  '     "  ^^^    forgive, ' 

A  sort  of  absolution  in  the  sounrl 
3,0  hate  a  little  longer  I  No  •  th^c- 

No^fi"  tT„airw"h1cta"«'>"-«  ''-'  •' 
Toonp.toolaSS?eo^?.rf4nor 

So^leThVg'rvi^^e'lSn'ti"  '"^'?  S"^  ''"«* 
And  such  a  sense  Xn  T  'i'Tr"'  ^^^''  f°^^  > 

All  my  poor  scran  'l"f  "■"''^?  "^^  ^'''h  all 
mine,  ^  '^  *>o  sucu 

fckk'i;;^.^  ^ifin^^s^df  ?r"«  ^°>'^. 

Ruin  :  a  felrful  night  I "         '  ""^  '^^  '°"« 

Said  the  good  wife  "if  r  ^^^  '""'■'"'  '■  fair." 
Had  you  ill  dreams?"  ^^"^  ^^^  ^'^^' 

Of  such'l?i|e"swelli„'t'f  "  ^f '•««'"'d 
And  I  from  out Thi  h„^  'T^'^  ^^^  'and, 
Swept  with  itto  the^r'""''',°'-''«^  'Jeep 

Of  thoseXrk  ca4  °/'j        '<^'^''^  °"«' 
cliffs  "^^  "'^'  "^n  beneath  the 

Bofe "tfeSX'Tavl  ^Lfrdless  deep 
upon  it  ^'  ^"'^  ^  was  heaved 

.„       thought,^  ^''^'   a  world,'    I 

oily  lhei"andJ'a"dti?°r!  °"  '  ^-nd 
Bright  with  f^r       °*"'  °f  '^e  cave, 

An!  ne:"tVe^1lhr  a"S'''  stream' beyond  : 
All  over  earthv  lil«  f  **"*  "^"^^n  sat. 

A  pickaxeTn  h«  hand  ■^'.tf'  °^  ''""''' 
Into  a  land  all  lunanH'w'*'"'  °"*  ^  «>■?» 
As  high  as  heavl"  !"^  .^.'°««°«>.  trees 


I  wonder-d  at  her  sTrergl'^aKft  K/ 
'"   "m'^'e's'^'*'    -id.  .by  working  in    the 

And  'tfe'^aTSinl  't^  *="r"'  "-«d. 
reach'd  ^   thunder;    and  we 

'i-rod  out  a  path  :TfoifoS'd  "^hh"  ff^'^ '»" 
She  po  nted  .eavva  J  •  ,K      '  ^"^  at  top, 

Th/seen,'d;Xe^'lf/eweL'un'^^^^^ 
ThSof  °"S  '^'^'■"'^  •■i^Ky  cloud"'' 

Lest  the  gay  navv  tTi/rJ  /i'  ^,"/  "}?"  ^  <"ear'd 
And  feann/wave,l  mT   ''""^^  splinter  on  it. 

An  idle  4'aTfo"'t^b^7t/eTe^  ''^™  °«"'- 
(I  thought  J_  could  have"'dii!fl  save  it) 

.^r'^n'dl'S-'^'^^'-'^'d.andvanish.d. 

i  heard  the  clash  so  clearlv     \r       r 
My  dream  wa«  I  Jfl .    ./"     ^ow  I  see 

WoTk*  '    ""*  *°«'«°  honest 

WrecT'^d^ ^  7^n^  ^"^  ^  ««'  "f  glass, 
"a  reet  of  visionary  gold  " 

"  ^K  "*'  ■-  '''"dly  wife  to  comfort 
7°"/ntbfore"  ^™'  ^-  '-"'ed  down 
The  glass  with  little  Ma.^aret's  medicine  in 
And,  b^akmg  that,  you  made  and  broke  your 

A  tnfle  makes  a  dream,  a  trifle  breaks." 


As  high  as  heaven  ^n2  ^^''^^T'  ''^'" 
AndUthrniKgrfifi,^ 
Awoke  me." 

"  No!  wi'b^f  ,5,\",y.*>'"-  «J«am."  she  said. 

•'And  mused  uponit"  dTffti'  '  '"'''!.'  "^''d  he, 
In  fancy,  till  T  iunf  L~"'^'"S."P.  'he  stream 
The  broken  vision'^.'  ?«*'"!,  ^"d  P'^ced 

"Ken  vision ;  for  I  dt«am'd  that  still 


•'No^trifle,"groan'd  the  husband;  "ye,. 
iCt  wtchf  a'sk'Irr'''  ''^"■^'  ^"'^  ^^'''d 

Whelf  the  greit'fionf  ^l^'  '^^  ''"'h  : 

en^tne  great  Books  (see  Daniel  seven  and 

Were  openM,  I  should  find  he  me,nt  me 

All1>ver"wtefaf  aT  '?™^""'  ^""J  °«« 
That  n.aCl  .t?f  'a;  affectionate  smile 
atn,akesthew,dowlean.     'My  dearest 

"'^%S'tf  ^^  ^«''^"    ^e  Hve  by  faith.- 
'And  all  things  work  together  for  the  good 


m 


«30 

^'^^''-lai;"  ""'''"'  ""^  'i'J' to  quote  him 
Gript  my^hand  hard,  and  with  God-bless-you 

I  S  f^  °^% '•'''",  '?*''  '««ived  a  blow : 
I  found  a  hard  friend  in  his  loose  accounts 

A  iTe  Tn  hUr'^^.  'If'^  «"P  °f  his  hand    ' 
A  curse  in  Ins  God-bless-you  :  then  mv  -v^c 
Pursued  l„m  down  the  street,  and  fa^aVa^v 
^"i°"g  'he  honest  shoulder,  of  he  crowd ^• 
Read  rascal  in  the  motions  of  his  back 
And  scoundrel  in  the  supple-sliding  knee." 


SB  A  DUE  A  MS. 


"^good'wlfe^''""'^'  ^°°''  '°"'  •  "  ^^'^  the 
B^fn-*  ^'^  *'■  ■  '^",*  '^°  n°'  call  him.  love- 
Vrgive^""^  ■'"'•  '°«"«'  »"<1  proved, 

wi«f '"k-  ''"'-;.  '  •"■  h*  «hjt  wrooT-s  hi.  friend 
Wrongs  himself  rnore,  and  ever  ^^.vs  Vbm" 
A  silent  court  of  justice  in  his  brt.- 
Himself  the  judge  and  jury,  and  hi.t  -.'- 

And  that  drags  do-v^i  his  life:  Shen  v...- 
what  comes 

&=fn!fV  ^"'^  ^^  ""^^"t-  he  said  ho  n:.:.n. 

well!"  '"''"'•  °''  ^'"'^y  ■•"««'>'.  y"" 

'"^skew"-^'*  conscience  and  one  eye 

^  '"""'  leam'  '^"°"'  """^  """•  *hat  you  may 

A  man  is  likewise  counsel  for  himself, 

•with  f"  V  '^^'  '"•""'  *=°"«  '-'  y°"rs - 
<;r;  f,  o« '%    '*  <^°"science  and  one  eye  askew. 
So  false,  la  partly  took  himself  for  true  ; 
Whose^pio.,,  talk,  when  most  his  heart  was 

Who"  n.'v'*'''  '■'■'•''''  "°^vsfoot  round  his  eye ; 
Who.  never  nami.-,g  God  except  for  gain, 

Made  Hi^^'h  *•'"'  "''^"'  "=■"«  '«  ^f  fn  ;' 

tool?  ""^  ^^'''^  ^"'^  *''^  ^'°^  ^'^ 

Nor  di^''  r'^a^i'  •"  Tap  his  dupe  and  fool ; 
And    J.,i  °r,^'"'  ^-"^  S'fts  of  grace  he  forged 
gor  ed  '''^   "'"'•"   "•=    he 

Ariinl^  £°l.^'',T''''';S*i  °'"  the  rest 
Arising,  did  his  holy  oily  best. 

Droppmg^Uie  too  rough   H   in   Hell   and 

^°  ^^\h£B  ^°"^  ^y  '"''''='>  '''"'elf  had 
How  like  you  this  old  satire  ? " 


A  belt   :t  seem'd  of  luminous  vapor,  ky. 
And  ..   er  m  it  a  low  musical  note  ^' 

'  Klg^'e  ^'^^'-  ^"'''  ='  "  «*«"'''.  i^ 

clew  wnh'/r"'^  ^°"'  '^'  ^^^'-  a"'^  «'i» 

Had  re..|'d  a  thunderous  lulness,  o^  those 
Broke,^  mivt  «4th  awful  ii^ht  (the  same  as 

Tira^alT'-h'n  '"f-  '''"^  ,"'^*«'^y  *he  saw 

more!  "^'  *"''  ''''^'  "" 

But  huge  ca'the(?-.l  fronts  of  .iv..:;y  a,,- 
Grave  florid,  st.rn,  as  far  as  eye  coua%e>- 
:-'<t  after  one  :  and  then  the  great  r^'  thX 
Lessening  to  the  lessening  misic,  baVv 
And  past  into  the  belt  anS  swell 'dagi, in 
S.owfy  to  music  ;  over  when  it  broke^ 

then  V    n  ■-     "^  °'  ^"'IPK^'  '°""der,  fell ; 
Ih^  1  JtM.n  Uie  gaps  and  chasms  of  ruin  left 

W  crvinf '^.  Tr^  '"  ^""'^  '^'"^'^^^  round, 
fauT^  '  "'^'"  "P  ■  'hey  shall  not 

And  odjers.^   'Let  them  lie,  for  they  have 
And  st'|l.Jliey  strove  and  wrangled  :  and  slie 

Their  wildest  wailings  never  out  of  tune 

shriek^"'  "°'"'   ^""^  ^"""^  "^  'heir 

Ran  highest  up  the  gamut,  that  great  wave 
c'ro^v^d''     '  "°"'  "nark-d^it,  on  the 

Broke    mixt  with  awful  light,  and  show'd 

iiieir  eyes 
Glaring,   and  passionate  looks,  and  swept 

To  the  waste  deeps  together. 


Ifixt 


"I  loathe  it :  he  had  never  kbd^y'heart'"'''' 

WhnT\'"^^  '°  ^.^'^"^  his  own  Lnd! 
Who  first  wrote  satire  with  no  pity  in  it 

?hat*a  loCJ''"  '^•r  '^'''""'.  '■«''  '^had  one 
It  awed  ^e"     *''°' '"  *""'''  ^    S''" 


Of  that  sam?co"asl!'  '°^^  '*'  ^"^'"^  ^'"^""'^ 


My  wistful  eyes  on  two  fair  imagel,''"" 

'sTaTs"  -*'     "'^'^  ^"'^  '''^^  ^""""S  'he 

Hi^h^n^'"ln^°"'"  'J-^"?'"8  """'h  her  child 

fronts  -°""  °  ^"''  '"■nster- 

Till  she  began  to  totter,  and  the  child 
Uung  to  the  mother,  and  sent  out  a  cry 

woke'"^'      little  Margaret's,  and   I 

"""'  £'rersT'''"^---^«"-^"'-''«t 

Yours  came  but  from  the  breaking  of  a  glass 
And  mine  but  from  the  crying  off  child  " 


'  but  this  tide 


"Child?    No!"  said  he. 
loar.  and  his. 

-  ;    ^^oanerges  with  his  threats  of  doo- 

-  y;  .  ;ud-lung'd  Antibabylonianisms 
i  Wpnt^K^fP"'  ^"i^  '""*  *""«'<:  'here) 

-  "  But  round  the  North,  a  light,  wwe  ^""^  '^"'^  =  but  if  t!.r. 


iminous  vapor,  lay, 

usicaJ  note 

and,  as  it  swell'd,  a 

I  the  belt,  and  still 
B  noie,  and  ,<,hen  the 

ous  fulness,  o*}  those 

al  lij^'u  (the  same  ..3 

whertby  she  saw 
f  cliffs  were  r'iffs  no 

itsof>>v-::ya;e, 
tar  as  eye  couM  seft, 
I  the  great  rid .  0  drtnv, 
ingnrisic,  bacV, 
ind  swell'd  again 
vhen  it  broke 
nt,  or  founder,  fell  ; 
!  chasms  of  ruin  left 
1  dark  clusters  round, 
I  up  I  they  shall  ;;   t 

1  He,  for  they  havu 

1  wrangled  :  and  sJie 

ie  knew  not  why,  to 

iver  out  of  tune 
and  ever  as  their 

Jt,  that  great  wave 
mark'd   it,   on   the 

light,  and  show'd 

looks,  and  swept 

alood,  and  men  of 

!ier. 

.    .      "Thenlfixt 

ir  images, 

nd  high  among  the 

ng  with  her  child 
3se   dark  minster- 

id  the  child 
sent  out  a  cry 
Margaret's,  and   I 

—  well— but  what 

ireaking  of  a  glass, 
ingofa  child." 

5.  "  but  this  tide's 

reats  of  doc 
onianisms 
asic  there) 
earn :  but  if  t!>r. : 


4hl"C'''  fiannonizing  our  wild  cries 

A    !'"':;'"rd''ri''"y°"dreanVdabout. 
/ny.  t!.^  ..  ould  make  our  passions  far  too 

o!!«^!n'/''V^*r*°'''«"n"sician.    No- 

One  of  our  town  but  later  by  I„Xur"'"' ' 

•  he  tl=mp!ed  flounce   of  the  sea-furbelow  | 

^°°^  Z"l~  P^""*'  *''«  "=^"''-    She  brought  I 
strange  news.  '      I 

I  had'^.^'*J'°K  '"*"'  *''«"  I  spoke  to-night? 
n.f^l"'  ""y ,''""  °°  J°^r  for^ving  him        • 
de'^d""   "''^-    ^"^  '"'*''  fo'-live  the 

"Dead  I  who  is  dead?" 

Hi'SLf  r  r  ^  p-K/ih'^h^ir  "''• 

He  suddenly  dropt  dead  of  heart-disease." 

"■^ffl he**^  of  heart-disease?  what  heart 
To  die  of?  dead  1 " 

And  .^e  d.d  that  wrong  you  change  him 

^^°"  S  "  ^""'^^  '"'^  •■°"«'='l  the  child 
01        "gain. 

And  I  wiU  sing  you  '  birdie.' "  '       ^' 


tffE  GRAi^DMOTHER. 


43t 

;'  The  woman  half  tumy  round  fro'm'^S^'S 
I  Left  him  one  hand,  and  reaching  thro'  the 

Anrf  ?,'-!'if  *"•  ''?""''  (|"°i:  '■'  ^^^  close  beside) 
And  half  embraced  the  basket  cradle  head 

bough''  "■™'  *'''^'''  ""«'  «he  pfiant 

'^''""  sway'l  """^  *•"=  ""♦  «»d  n«'ling- 
The  cradle,  while  she  sang  this  baby  song. 

What  does  little  birdie  say  " 
In  her  nest  at  peep  of  day? 
L.et  me  fly,  says  little  birdie. 
Mother,  let  me  fly  away 
Bird.e,  rest  a  little  longer, 

1>11  the  httle  wings  are  strongsr 
So  she  rests  a  httle  longer,    * 
1  hen  she  flies  away. 

What  does  little  baby  say. 
In  her  bed  at  peep  of  day? 
Baby  says,  like  little  birdie. 
^et  me  rise  and  fly  away 
Baby  sleep  a  little  longer, 

Till  the  httle  limbs  are  stronger. 
If  she  sleeps  a  little  longer. 

Baby  too  shall  fly  away 


3»  <>«*  >;"  H.e,  ,1,.  womT!"™,' ?„"  ™? 


THE  GRANDMOTHER. 

'^uddSCh'itf  a"tei^  ^"S?'  r  'V> ''«'«  Anne? 
Hnd  WillyVwThas  w?  tTe„^.°",,^''  '"S^'  '^^  '"^l*'  "ke  a  man. 

Never  the^ife  for'^^iTy'fhVwtld-^nSrmTa'^l^^ 

Had  n't  a  head^to^L'*"  ^"'"i;  ^'^  "°"he  man'to  save 
Pretty^^'o^gtve°r;r^n?e^^tt^\".^1■•-'^.  "^^^^  his^^ave. 
Eh  ,-  but  he  wouldn't  hearme  -Zi^^!^^^  ,,„,. 

There  was  nlf  Ss^  fike1Lfyl.TTn^l;;„TpaeVruJd'!•'  ^-■''  ^^  ''-"''. 


«J« 


The  GRANDMoTHMh. 


I  cannot  cry  for  Kim  AmiiV  •/»,■,       °"  ,  "^  ''^  *^"'  so  young 
Perhaps  l7haU.serhifnX  soLn^ WlK.Say' 

y  ai  your  age,  Annie,  I  could  have  wept  with  the  best 

I  mean  your  erandfathpr  A?,n;«     l       "'^"^  *  ^^ar. 
SeventyWs^To'm5^Jkr^;]^:^sev"LT;;e"^a?s\J°:^^ 

f  |/Ma^^^^^^^^^^^  -  £pjace  a  d    knew  Hght  weU 

And  she  to  be  com  ng  and  slanderinir  m«  JiT  u     *?."''^  ^o'  *e  . 
But  the  tongue  i,  a  4,  as  Sfc^  S^'d^.M!^  J^'^u^Ts  'a  fire. 

ThaVa  JieTfflslalf  aiufhV"^^'  ^^'^t\^^^  he  said  likewise 

That  a  lie  wh  ch  I  all  a  lil  "'i'  't^^"  '''^  '''^^''"t  ofliesT 

But  a  lie  whichl'^S  a^  ttSYs  I'd^t^^  gfi -*"«»>.. 

A^d  aTlirings''lo^°^d"al'rd*^h'^?'"  \'  ^  -«>«''  -"^  -  day ; 

And  wh.t.  wh.t.  wh.t,  .„  the  bush  besPde  meSlrSS the  nightingale. 

WiU°/Lll''d7diVseTn;e'''"^nPHn'  '"^'l^  «^'«  ^^ *h«  farm. 
Out  mto  the  road  I  s?ar^^'  7  5      J,**""/  ''""^  on  his  arm. 

^wtK^tVorsitTti^S!^^ 

And  what  do  I  care  for  fano  lit  w  your  good  name  is  mine. 
But  marry  me  out  oKrW^lo'o^shT^e^h^p-p^ya.?.^  ""  '' 

II  w  XIV. 

An'5^7e J°;;;,Sf,L;;:t1ale:  te*ie'  f  ^"^  ",T  «'«-''  ^^  ""'nd. 
But  he  tum'd  and  daspt  me  n%?,Uf  °"^  "?"'  '""'d  and  unkind  " 
Seventy  years  ago, t^j^f^^^  S^tenTyV^  ar^'''  "  ''°-  '°^" 


""■ima. 

No,  love,  no  " ; 


tHE  CRAMnMOTHEk. 


«a3 


XV. 


AnH^i'l^  ^""^  ^  **">  *«''^'"1 :  I  wore  a  lilac  «own  • 
Shadow  and  shine  is  Hferilt^Tn^'oS^nl  r^"' 


XVI 
p    .  .        ,  XVIII, 

l"^S'.U7^^t^'':^l^^,j;^^  ^o  left  ™e  at  two. 
Patterine  over  the  UaT5=c^        "'*'  *"  -^""'e  '■'^e  you : 

They  come  and  sit  bv  mv  rhair  »f«    ?     "I"^  °'^*  dream. 
I  am  not  always"S"ff  ?LTb?l^ve°o7detd."'  "^  '•"*- 

l^  .       .  .  XXIII. 

fiSt  miSaZTofcTk^^^^^^        ?H"Jd  make  us  sad  : 
AndGod,not!;:S^,l^a5"e^ran'::^;^«{;i>ih^ 
Auu  in  tnis  liook.  littie  AiinieTthe  m" '•    :   iS  onrofPea'cT^  ' 


m 


j'-'i 
s  Is 


XXV. 


Only  at  your  aire  Ann!*  t  ^^.,ij  t  '  *"^  '°°8;  ^or  rest : 
3  «i  your  age,  Annie,  I  could  havr  wept  with  the  best 


again. 


m 


NORTHERN. FARMER. 

But".^"  '^"'u''  L"««  'eft  you.  wheS  f  shall  tV  ""'P  "^^  'V'*- 
But  suy  wuh  th«  old  wo'n,a„  now  :  VoutSrot  C  lo?^^-, 


NORTHERN   FARMER. 

OLD  STYLB. 


an'  agoHn : 


Doctors,  thev  kna  L.o  „„   »  /■  "• 

Naw  soon  o^oind  o>  r-tSaLXTh"-^'  '^  "J^^'T  ^«  = 
I  ve  'ed  mv  nninf  „> ...",. '"  ^^^y  V^P  things  that  a  do. 

1  bean  'ere, 

tor  foorty  year. 


An 


I  've  'ed  my  pornV^'^vakfe ',?  '^^^  "l^  "l'"«'  


'feL^'h^y'SlSr;.'*"'  ^  "'■•""'"«  »•  -ny  bed 

An-  a  towd  ma  my  sins  Jn  •,  ^^^^''  ''*'="•  '"X  ^wd  "  'a  said 

I  done  my  ....J^y  ^u^as":  'lu^^^Trhetnl"'  ^  ^-'^ «'  ^»  l^ond ; 


But??ost'"oop,''thot  a  did''?boo!  B"e"°'''lSt '"°°f '' '°  f^™. 

Thof  a  knaws  r  halhVs  voSfirt  »;.  c     *''^"''"'  »  barn. 

An-  i'  the  woost  o'  toim^r/lrniS'^^rti;;^^''  '"^  '"^'«' 

I  done  my  /uty  by  un'as  T  'a 'dinl\y'tVe"ond."''"'°"** '' 


sit 

/  waaakc. 

Theer  wu?  .'  bo^Te  in  k^  T}^^  Lll^^f.^^-.  ^^^  was  not  bom  then 
„..., ^  butter-bumn  if"'  tT:""  r"  '«>:=<:"  " 


»#    ..  ■.  .■•••.•  '    ""KKIC  m  It.   I  nftan  '..--J  : '  ""'»  ""i  o< 

«i-ja3t  ioike  a  butter-bumn  +'5x"  xV'' •-"  '«yscr. ; 

But  I  stubb'd  un  ^p  ^"^fiie  ,°   Ind  »«"%*''°?'  =">  'boot, 
f  wi  me  lot,  and  raitved  an'  rembled  un 

•  Cockchafer. 


rembled  un  cot. 

t  Bittern. 


The  wfw 

The  ..4p 

Man  cor 

ne 

Me  only 
Consumi 
Here  at  ■ 
A  white- 


ir.— 


agoaa : 


lond; 


ye'id, 
saay, 


TITHONUS. 
Noaks  wur  'ang 


•u 


Ihimbleby- toner  'ed  shot  an  a^  dead  asTnasil 
r  -ang-d  for  u  ooj;  at  'soUe  -  but  git  ma  my  ya^e/ 


XI 

nnn- -.'f  ^''  "",''  '•  '*'*•  »"'  I  '"""'d  to  'a  stubb'd  it  at  fall 
Done  u  ta-year  I  mean'd.  an'  runn'd  plow  thruff  it  an'  aU  ' 
If  godamoighty  an'  parson  'ud  nobbut  l-^t  ,.,a  aloa  i  ' 

Mea.  w.'  haate  oonderd  haacre  o'  Squoues  an' °^'d  o'  my  oin. 

pK.^«°'I*'"°'^'**y  ''"**  ^•'^f  a 's  doing  a-taakin'  o'  mea  ? 
1  beant  wonn  as  saws  'ere  a  bean  an'  yonder  a  p^a  ■ 
An   Squoire  'ull  I :  sa  mad  an'  all  -  a'  dear  a' dear  I 
And  I  'a  monaged  f.r  Squoir^  come  MichaefmasThlrty year. 

OrTrowV'f  t,'yi/°p''K-  "'  ''"'  ".  '»^P°»h  o'  sense. 
w  a  mowt  a  taaken  Robins  —  a  n  ver  mended  a  frnr»  • 

Wi'  f  u^hTi^.''^*  '"°°^'  '"^"^^  meran^fall',L  "w  ' 
Wi  auf  the  CO  vs  to  cauve  an'  Thornaby  holms  to  plow  I 


Squoire 's  m  LunnoTi   an' summ- 
I  or  who  's  to  howd    He  lond  at 
bartin-sewer  I  bea,  thot  a  weUi 
XHoither  a  moint  to  Robins  —  a  i. 


XV. 

^  J'Vj'cons  'ull  'a  to  wroite, 
•a  thot  muddles  ma  quoit  : 
■  give  It  to  Joanes, 
■  rembles  the  stoans. 

XVI. 


♦>  XVI 

G.    I  mun doy  I  mL  dW  an-  loifi    h-"'   "^^P^^^'^  oan  teim 
But  gin  I  mun^doy  I  mtVo^y.  K  S/n^^lr'To^sle  it. 

Stort\ttS'  t"  afe'fr '^"P«  -^  '"^^  ^I«  ' 
I  weant  break  riles  for  D^fnr  ,1*""'  '   "'«  °^d  taSle; 

Gu  ma  my  yaJe  ftdl  tha  w'  it^^^  "^7  "V"'  "°'  »  ^^^  '- 
J  /"«c  1  leii  ina,  an  gm  I  mun  doy  I  mun  doy. 


il 


TITHONUS. 
Thf  -jfood,  decay,  the  woods  decay  and  fall 

M^'l,n^!!:'"^"y  *  summer  dies  the  swan. 
Me  only  cruel  immortalitv 

n^^TMl  ^  '^'''^^'  ?'°^^      ■■"  thine  arms. 
nere  at  the  quiet  limit  of     le  world 

A  whue-hair'd  shadow  roamuigTe  a  dream 


?''*/Tl'J'''*."'  spaces  of  the  East. 

Alas  I  for  this  gray  shadow,  once  a  man  - 
So  glorious  m  his  beauty  and  thv  choice 
Who  madest  him  thy  chosen,  that  he  seem'H 

TK-     j-j   ■   ..  Givemeimmortalifv." 

smile  ^"    "'  "*  "'''"'f  *'"'  » 

Like  wealthy  men  who  care  not  how  they 


*  Anemones, 


«3ft 


THE   l^OYAGE. 


But  thy  strong  Hours  indignant  work'd  their 
wills, 

And  beat  me  do  wn  and  iparred  and  wasted  me. 
And   tho    they  could  not  end  me,  left   me 

mami'd 
To  dwellin  presence  of  immortal  youth 
Immortal  age  beside  immortal  youth 
And  all  I  was,  in  ashes.     Can  thy  love, 
Ihy  beauty,  make  amends,  tho'  even  now. 
Close  oyer  us,  the  silver  star,  thy  guide, 
bnines  in  those  tremulous  eyes  that  fill  with 

tears 
To  hear  me?    Let  me  ro:  take  back  thy 

gift :  ' 

Why  should  a  man  "desire  in  any  way 
To  vary  from  the  kindly  race  of  men. 
Or  pass  beyond  the  goal  of  ordinance 

all  should  pause,  as  is  most  meet  for 

aJir 

A  soft  air  fans  the  cloud  apart :  there  comes 
A  ghmpse  of  that  dark  world  where  1  was 

bom. 
Once  more  the  old  mysterious  glimmer    teals 
*rom  thy  pure  brows,  and  from  thy  sfiouJ- 

ders  pure, 
And  bosom  beating  with  a  heart  renew'd. 
Ihy  cheek  begins  to  redden  thro'  the  gloom. 
Thy  sweet  eyes  brighten  slowly  close  to  mine 
Ere  yet  they  bhnf  the  stars,  and  the  wild 

team 
Which  love  thee,  veaming  for  thy  yoke,  arise. 
And  shake  the  darkness  from  their  loosen'd 
.  manes, 

And  beat  the  twilight  into  flakes  of  fire. 

Lo  t  ever  thus  thou  growest  beautiful 
In  silence,  then  before  thine  answer  given 
Departest,  and  thy  tears  are  on  my  cheek. 


Why  wilt  thou  ever  scare  me  with  thy 
tears, 
And  make  me  tremble  lest  a  saving  learnt 
In  days  far-off,  on  thu.  dark  earth,  be  true? 
ihe  Oods  themselves  cannot  recall  their 
gifts." 

Av  me  I  ay  me  I  with  what  another  heart 
In  days  far-off,  and  with  what  other  eyes 
I  used  to  watch -if  I  be  he  that  watch'd  — 
1  he  lucid  outline  forming  round  thee  ;  saw 
ine  dim  curls  kindle  into  sunny  rings  ; 
Changed  with  thy  mystic  change,  and  felt 

my  blood 
Glow  with  the  glow  that  slowly  crimson'd  all 
1  hy  presence  and  thy  portals,  while  I  lay. 
Mouth,  forehead,    eyelids,   growing   dewv- 

warra  ' 

With  kisses  balmier  than  half-opening  buds 
Of  April,  and  could  hear  the  lips  that  kiss'd 
Whispering  I  knew  not  what  of  wild  and 

sweet, 

wuM  "l^?  »"?,"&•=  «"ig  I  heard  Apollo  sing, 
WhUe  Ihon  like  a  mist  rose  into  towers. 

Yet  hold  me  not  forever  in  thine  East : 
How  can  my  nature  longer  mix  with  thine  ? 
Colu     thy  rosy  shadows  bathe  me,  cold 


Are  .ill  thy  lights,  and  cold  my  wrinkled  feet 
Upon  thy  glimmering  thresholds,  when  the 

steam 
Floats  up  from  those  dim  fields  about  the 

hiynes 
Of  happy  men  that  have  the  power  to  die 
And  grassy  barrows  of  the  happier  de.ul    ' 
Release  me,  and  restore  me  to  the  ground  ■ 
1  hou  seest  all  things,  thou  wilt  see  my  grave  • 
Ihou  wilt  renew  Ihy  beauty  morn  by  morn  ' 
I  earth  in  earth  forKet  these  empty  courts 
And  thee  returning  on  thy  silver  wheels. 


THE  VOYAGE. 

I. 
Wh  left  behind  the  painted  buoy 

That  tosses  at  the  harbor-mouth  : 
And  madly  danced  our  hearts  with  joy. 

As  fast  we  fleeted  to  the  South  : 
How  fresh  was  every  sight  and  sound 

On  open  main  or  winding  shore  I 
We  knew  the  merry  world  was  round, 

And  we  might  sail  forevermore. 

II. 
Warm  broke  the  breeze  against  the  brow. 

I)ry  san^  the  tackle,  sang  the  sail : 
1  he  Lady  s-heafi  upon  the  prow 

Caught  the  shrill  salt,  and  sheer'd  the  gale, 
ihe  broad  seas  swell'd  to  meet  the  keel. 
-.Ann  swept  behind  :  so  quick  the  run. 
We  felt  the  good  ship  shake  and  reel. 

We  seem'd  to  sail  into  the  Sun  J 

III. 


How  oft  we  saw  the  Sun  retire, 

And  burn  the  threshold  of  the  night. 
Fall  from  his  Ocean-lane  of  fire, 

And  sleep  beneath  his  pillar'd  light  I 
How  oft  the  purple-skirted  robe 

Of  twilight  slowly  downward  drawn, 
As  thro'  the  slumber  of  the  globe 

Again  we  dash'd  into  the  dawn  1 

IV. 

New  stars  all  night  above  the  brim 

Of  waters  lighten'd  into  view  ; 
They  climb'd  as  quickly,  for  the  rim 

Changed  every  moment  as  we  flew. 
Far  ran  the  naked  moon  across 

The  houseless  ocean's  heaving  field, 
Or  flying  shone,  the  silver  boss 

Other  own  halo's  dusky  shield  ; 

V. 
The  peaky  islet  shifted  shapes, 

Hicn  tnwna  nn  k.'Mo  «....»  j:»i.. 

We  past  long  lines  of  Northern  c3pes 
And  dewy  Northern  meadows  gr«en. 

vve  came  to  warmer  waves,  ad  S^^rs 
Across  the  boundless  east       drove. 

Where  those  long  swells  of  L  .aker  sweep 
1  he  nutmeg  rocks  and  isles  of  clove. 


and  cold  my  wrinkled  feet 
nng  thre*:  holds,  when  the 

lose  dim  fields  about  the 

:  have  the  power  to  die, 
s  ot  the  happier  dead. 
:store  me  to  the  ground  ; 
{s,  thou  wilt  lee  my  grave  ; 
ly  beauty  morn  by  morn  ; 
get  theie  empty  courts, 
[  on  thy  silver  wheels. 


VOYAGE. 


painted  buoy 
e  harbor-mouth  : 
our  hearts  with  joy, 
I  to  the  South  : 
y  sight  and  sound 
winding  shore  I 
;  world  was  round, 
il  forcvermore. 


:eze  against  the  brow, 
le,  sang  the  sail : 
pon  the  prow 
lalt.and  sheer'd  the  gale. 
I'd  to  meet  the  keel, 
I  :  so  quick  the  run, 
I]}  shake  and  reel, 
into  the  Sun  1 

III. 

Sun  retire, 

shold  of  the  night, 

lane  of  fire, 

I  his  pillar'd  light  I 

ikirted  robe 

downward  drawn, 

■  of  the  globe 

ito  the  dawn  1 

IV. 

ibove  the  brim 
1  into  view ; 
kly,  for  the  rim 
iment  as  we  flew, 
oon  across 
in's  heaving  field, 
silver  boss 
lusky  shield ; 

V. 

;d  shapes, 

„  ...a..  j:~i.. 

.  r»......  ..t,....w  a^riri:, 

"  Northern  cdpes 
1  meadows  gr'^en. 
raves,  a-  d  decjl 
3s  east  drove, 
:11s  of  L. cuker  sweep 
ind  isles  of  clove. 


W  THE  VALLEY  OF  CA  UTERETZ.  -  REQUIESCA  T. 


vt. 
By  peaks  that  flamed,  or,  all  in  shade, 

Gloom'd  the  low  coast  and  quivering  brine 
With  ashjr  rains,  that  spreading  made 

Fantastic  plume  or  sable  pine  ; 
Dy  sands  and  steaming  Hats,  and  Hoods 

Of  mighty  mouth,  we  scudded  fast. 
And  hills  and  scarlet-m-ngled  woods 

Glow'd  for  a  moment  as  we  past. 

VII 

O  hundred  sliores  of  happy  climes, 

How  swiftly  stream'd  ye  by  the  bark  I 
At  times  the  whole  sea  burn'd,  at  times 

With  wakes  of  fire  we  tore  the  dark  ; 
At  times  a  carven  craft  would  shoot 

From  havens  hid  in  fiiry  bowers, 
With  naked  limbs  and  flowersand  fruit, 

But  we  nor  paused  for  fruits  nor  flowers. 

VIII. 

For  one  fair  Vision  ever  fled 

Down  the  waste  waters  day  and  night, 
And  still  we  follow'd  where  she  led 

In  hope  to  gain  upon  her  flight. 
Her  face  was  evermore  unseen. 

And  fixt  upon  the  far  sea-line  ; 
But  each  man  murmured,  "  O  my  Queen, 

I  follow  till  I  make  thee  mine.'* 

ix. 

And  now  we  lost  her,  now  she  gleam'd 

Like  Fancy  made  of  golden  air, 
Now  nearer  to  the  prov,'  she  seem'd 

Like  Virtue  firm,  like  Knowledge  fair. 
Now  high  on  waves  that  idly  burst 

Like  Heavenly  Hope  she  crown'd  the  sea. 
And  now,  the  bloodless  point  reversed. 

She  bore  the  blade  of  Liberty. 

X. 

And  only  one  among  us —  him 

We  pleased  not  —  he  was  seldom  pleased  : 
He  saw  not  far  :  his  eyes  were  dim  : 

But  ours  he  swore  were  all  diseased. 
"A  ship  of  fools,"  he  shriek'd  in  spite, 

"A  ship  of  fools,"  he  sneer'd  and  wept. 
And  overboard  one  stormy  night 

He  cast  his  body,  and  on  we  swept. 

XI. 

And  never  sail  of  ours  was  furi'd 
„  Nor  anchor  dropt  at  eve  or  mom  ; 
We  loved  the  glories  of  the  world, 

But  laws  of  nature  were  our  scorn  • 
For  blasts  would  rise  and  rave  and  cease. 

But  whence  were  those  that  drove  the  sail 
Across  the  whiriwind's  heart  of  peace. 

And  to  and  thro'  the  counter-gale? 

XII. 

Again  to  colder  climes  we  came. 

Foi  btiil  we  foliow'd  where  she  led  : 
Now  mate  is  blind  and  captain  lame, 

And  half  the  crew  are  sick  or  dead. 
But  blind  or  lame  or  sick  or  sound 

We  follow  that  which  flies  before  : 
We  know  the  merry  worid  is  round, 

And  we  may  sail  forevermore. 


'37 
IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  CAUTERETZ. 

All  along  the  valley,  stream  that  flashest 

white. 
Deepening  thy  voice  with  the  deepenine  of 

the  night. 
All  along  the  valley,  where  thy  waters  flow, 
I  walk  d  with  one  I  loved  two  and  thirty 

years  ago. 
All  along  the  valley  while  I  walk'd  today, 
The  two  and  thirty  years  were  a  mist  that 

rolls  away  ; 
For  all  along  the  valley,  down  thy  rocky  bed. 
Thy  living  voice  to  me  was  as  ihe  voice  of 

the  dead, 
And  all  along  the  valley,  by  rock  and  cave 

and  tree. 
The  voice  of  the  dead  was  as  a  living  voice 

to  me. 


THE  FLOWER. 

Once  in  a  golden  hour 
I  cast  to  earth  a  seed. 

Up  there  came  a  flower. 
The  people  said,  a  weed. 

To  and  fro  they  went 
Thro'  my  garden-bower. 

And  muttering  discontent 
Cursed  me  and  my  flower. 

Then  it  grew  so  tall 
It  wore  a  crown  of  light. 

But  thieves  from  o'er  the  wall 
Stole  the  seed  by  night. 

Sow'd  it  far  and  wide 
By  every  town  and  tower. 

Till  all  the  people  cried, 
"  Splendid  is  the  flower." 

Read  my  little  fable  : 
He  that  runs  may  read. 

Most  can  raise  the  flowers  now, 
For  all  have  got  the  seed. 

And  some  are  pretty  enough. 
And  some  are  poor  indeed  ; 

And  now  again  the  people 
Call  it  but  a  weed. 


Rf.QUIE?,CAT. 

Fair  is  her  cottage  ia  its  place. 

Where  yon  broad  water  sweetly   slowly 
glides. 
It  sees  itself  from  thatch  in  H*"a 

Dream  in  the  sliding  tides. 

And  fairer  she,  but  ah,  how  soon  to  die  I 
Her  quiet  dream  of  life  this  hour  may 
cease. 

Her  peaceful  being  slowly  passes  by 
To  some  more  perfect  peace. 


i 


338 


THE  SAILOR-BOY.  -  THE  ISLET.  -  THE  RINGLET 


THE  SAILOR-BOY. 


He  rose  at  dawn  and,  fi^ed  with  hope. 

Shot  o'er  the  seething  harbor-bar. 
And  reach/d  the  ship  and  caught  the  rope 

And  whistled  to  the  mornini  star 

And  while  he  whistled  long  and  loud 
"n  R       .?  ^  ''u''"  mermaiden  cry, 

0  Boy  tho'  thou  art  young  and  proud 

1  see  the  place  where  thou  wiluTe' 


The  sands  and  yeasty  surges  mix 
In  caves  about  the  dreary  bay. 
And  on  thv  ribs  the  limpet  sticks. 
And  in  thy  heart  the  scrawl  shall  play." 

"  ^"""V  fie  answer'd,  "  death  is  sure 
lo  those  that  stay  and  those  that  roam. 

But  I  will  nevermore  endure 
lo  sit  with  empty  hands  at  home. 

"  ^i?  "pother  clings  about  my  neck, 
M    /.u^'^"  "Ting,  '  Stay,  for  shaiJie  ■  • 
My  father  raves  of  death  and  wreck,     ' 

"God  help  me  I  save  I  take  my  part 

Of  danger  on  the  roaring  seaf 
A  devil  rises  in  my  heart. 

Far  worse  than  any  death  to  me  " 


THE  ISLET. 

"Whither,  O  whither,  love,  shall  we  go, 
tor  a  score  of  sweet  little  summers  or  so?  " 
1  he  sweet  little  wife  o^  the  singer  said 
On  the  day  that  foUow'd  the  day  she  was 
wed; 

A  ^'lu'^*':'  ^  w'''ther,  love,  shall  we  go  ? " 
And  the  singer  shaking  his  curly  1-ad 
i  urn  d  as  he  sat,  and  struck  the  keys 

^Jntf  ^  « '*  "o^^i  ""^y^  =»  ^"'^den  crash, 
SinRing,      And  shall  it  be  over  the  seas 

R^.'f^  V^^^^l"-  "  "«='"'"  "-"de  nor  rash, 

But  a  bevy  of  Eroses  applecheek'd, 

Jo  a  shallop  of  crystal  ivory-beak'd, 

With  a  safm  sail  of  a  ruby  glow, 

To  a  sweet  little  Eden  on  earth  that  I  know 

A  mountam  islet  pointed  and  peak'd  •  ' 

Waves  on  a  diamond  shingle  dash. 

CatRract  brooks  to  the  ocean  run, 

J  airi.y-delicate  palaces  shine 

Mixt  with  myrtle  and  clad  with  vine. 

And  overstream'd  and  siivery-streak'd 

The  fa"c'e,?of  ::r''=/  '^'«'^  "^^i"^'  'he  Sun 

AbLfftf     1  '"'  ^'?"°','*  mountain  flash 

"  Th^f  J      ^'".f^  °^  P^'"!  and  pine." 

Thither,  O  thither,  love,  let  us  go." 

"  No,  no,  no  I 

For  !n  all  ♦!>•»»  .-^, .:..■>.  ?  i 

And  h  s  compass  is  but  of  a  single  note, 
1  nat  It  makes  one  weary  to  hear." 
Mock  me  not  I  mock  me  not  I  love,  let  us 


"  No,  love,  no. 

For  the  bjid  ever  breaks  into  bloom  on  the 

And  a  storm  never  wakes  on  the  lonely  sea 
And  a  worm  is  there  in  the  lonely  wood  ' 
Ihat  gierces  the  liver   and    blLkens'  the 

And  makes  it  a  sorrow  to  be." 


THE   RINGLET. 

Ihat  look  so  golden-gay. 
If  you  yv.ll  give  me  one  tut  one, 
lo  kiss  It  night  and  day. 

Wiirf''"  ^''"'.'"S  'ouch'of  Time 

Will  turn  It  silver-gray  ; 
And  then  shall  1  know  it  is  all  true  gold 
Ti°l  ainh^"'^  sparkle  and  stream  as^of  old. 

AnH  i,'^^.  ^°"ie's  >n  heaven  are  cold.        ' 
«  -^1?°  ^",'^*''  s'^i's  decay."  ^ 

llus  cannot  change,  nor  yet  can  L" 

3. 

"  ^y  "nglet.  my  ringlet. 

1  fiat  art  so  golden-gay, 
Now  never  chilling  touch  of  Time 

Can  turn  thee  silver-gray  • 

And  a  fnl!l^^  ""'"''•  ""^^  *  «'^'  '"^y  hint. 
And  a  fool  may  say  his  say; 

For  my  doubts  and/ears  were  all  amiss. 

That  i  ri^^fh^'r^rh  hy  this  and  thi^ 
Ihat  a  doubt  will  only  come  for  a  kiss. 
,   And  a  fear  to  be  kiss'd  away. "  ' 

Ihen  kiss  it,  love,  and  put  it  by : 
if  this  can  change,  why  so  can  if" 

II. 
O  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

I  kiss'd  you  night  and  day. 
And  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

You  still  are  golden-gay. 
But  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet 

You  should  be  silver-gray  • 
For  what  is  this  which  now  i  'm  told 
i  that  took  you  for  true  gold, 
bhe  that  gave  you  's  bought  and  sold, 
Sold,  sold. 


O  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

She  blush'd  a  rosy  red. 
When  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

She  dipt  you  from  her  bead. 
And  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 
,  ,§he  gave  you  me,  and  said, 
Come,  kiss  it,  love,  and  put  it  by: 
0  can  I." 


If    r-     '  '  '"'C,  ana  p' 

It  this  can  change,  why  so  ( 
O  fie,  you  golden  nothing,  fie 

Yqu  golden  lis. 


J. 
O  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

I  count  you  much  to  blame. 
For  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

>  on  nnr  mp  miirh  to  5h-,m». 


RINGLET. 


reaks  into  bloom  on  the 

wakes  on  the  lonely  sea 
■e  in  the  lonely  wood,  ' 
liver   and    blackens   the 

row  to  be." 


RINGLET. 

iir  ringlets, 

en-gav, 

one,  but  one, 

nd  day, 

touch  of  Time 

■gra^-  ; 

Dw  It  is  all  true  gold 

e  and  stream  as  of  old, 

1  heaven  are  cold, 

lecay.'' 


and  put  it  b 


'U 


nor  yet  can 


3. 

glet, 
-gay, 

ouch  of  Time 
ir-gray ; 

and  a  girl  may  hint, 
'  his  say ; 

sars  were  all  amiss, 
rth  by  this  and  this, 
y  come  for  a  kiss, 
is'd  away." 
md  put  It  by : 
liy  so  can  I." 


nd  day, 
et, 

gay. 

t, 

■-gray: 

now  I  'm  told, 
"-  gold, 

aught  and  sold, 
sold. 


A, 

let, 

!r  bead, 

t, 

d  said, 

id  put  it  by: 

■  so  can  I." 

ig,  fie 


lame, 


IVELCOME  TO  ALEXANDRA.- THE  CAPTAIN. 


So  Ringlet,  O  Ringlet, 

I  doom  you  to  the  flame. 
For  what  is  this  which  now  I  learn 
Has  given  all  my  faith  a  turn  .>  * 
Bum,  you  glossy  heretic,  burn, 
Bum,  bum. 


A  WELCOME  TO  ALEXANDRA. 
March  7,  1863. 
Sea-kings'  daughter  from  over  the  sea, 

c  J  »»  Alexandra  I 

baxon  and  Norman  and  Dane  are  we, 
But  all  of  us  Danes  in  our  welcome  of  thee, 
„,  ,  .        ,       .  Alexandra  I 

We  come  her,  thunders  of  fort  and  of  fleet  I 
Welcome  her,  thundering  cheer  of  the  street ! 
Welcome  her,  all  things  youthful  and  sweet, 
bcatter  the  blossom  under  her  feet ! 
Break,  happy  land,  into  earlier  flowers  ! 
Make  music,   O  bird,   in   the  new-budded 

bowers  I 
Blazon  your  mottoes  of  blessing  and  prayer  1 
Welcome  her,  welcome  her,  all  that  :s  ours  ! 
Warble,  O  bugle,  and  trumpet,  blare  ! 
F  ags,  flutter  out  upon  turrets  and  towers  I 
Flames,  on  the  windy  headland  flare  I 
Utter  your  jubilee,  steepre  and  spire  I 
Uash,  ye  bells,  in  the  merry  March  air  1 
Flash,  ye  cities,  in  rivers  of  fire  I 
Rush  to  the  roof,  sudden  rocket,  and  hieher 
Melt  into  the  stars  for  the  land's  desire  I 
Koll  and  rejoice,  jubilant  voice. 
Roll  as  a  ground-swell  dash'd  on  the  strand, 
Koar  as  the  sea  when  he  welcomes  the  land 
And  welcome  her,  welcome  the  land's  desire 
The  sea-kings'  daughter  as  happy  as  fair. 
Blissful  bride  of  a  blissful  heir, 
Bride  of  the  heir  of  the  kings  of  the  sea— 
O  joy  to  the  people,  and  joy  to  the  throne, 
tjome  to  us,  love  us,  and  make  us  your  own  ■ 
*or  Saxon  or  Dane  or  1-  jrman  we. 
Teuton  or  Celt,  or  whatever  we  be, 
We  are  each  all  Dane  in  our  welcome  of  thee, 
Alexandra ! 

ODE  SUNG  AT  THE  OPENING  OF 
THE^INTERNATIONAL    EXHI 

Uplift  a  thousand  voices  full  and  sweet. 
In  this  wide  hall  with  earth's  invention 

stored. 
And  praise  th'  invisible  universal  Lord, 
Who  lets  once  more  in  peace  the  nations 
meet. 

Where  Science,  Art,  and  L.-.bor  have  out- 
pour d 
Their  myriad  horns  of  plenty  at  our  feet. 

O  silent  father  of  our  Kings  to  be 
Moum  d  in  this  golden  hour  of  jubilee, 
'or  this,  for  all,  we  weep  our  thanks  to  thee  I 


»39 


The  world-compelling  plan  was  thine. 
And  lo  I  the  long  laborious  miles, 


Of  Palace  ;  lo  I  the  giant  aisles. 

Rich  in  model  and  design  ; 

Harvest-tool  and  husbandry. 

Loom  and  wheel  and  engin'ry 

Secrets  of  the  sullen  mine, 

Steel  and  gold,  and  com  and  wine. 

V  abric  rough,  or  Fairy  fine, 

Sunny  tokens  of  the  Line, 

Polar  marvels,  and  a  feast 

Of  wonder  out  of  West  and  East, 

And  shapes  and  hues  of  Art  divine  I 

All  of  beauty,  ail  of  use, 

That  one  fair  planet  can  produce. 

Brought  from  under  every  star, 
Blown  from  over  every  main. 
And  mixt,  as  life  is  mixt  with  pain, 

The  works  of  peace  with  works  of  war. 

0  ye,  the  wise  who  think,  the  wise  who  reijm. 
'rom  growing  commerce   loose  her  latest 

chain. 
And  let  the  fair  white- v/inged  peacemaker  fly 

1  o  happy  havens  under  all  the  sky. 

And  mix  the  seasons  and  the  golden  hours. 
1  111  each  man  finds  his  own  in  all  men  s  good. 
And  all  men  work  in  noble  brotherhood; 
Breaking   their   mailed   fleets   and   armed 

towers. 
And  ruling  by  obeying  Nature's  powers. 
And  gathering  all  the  fruits  of  peace  and 

crown'd  with  all  her  flowers. 


A  DEDICATION. 

Dear,  near  and  true —no  truer  Time  him- 

Can  prove  you,  tho'  he  make  you  evermore 
iJearer  and  nea  -r,  as  the  rapid  of  life 
Shoots^tothe  fall -take  this,  and  pray  that 

Who  wrote  it,  honoring  your  sweet  faith  in 

him. 
May  trust  himself;  and  spite  of  praise  and 

scorn. 
As  one  who  feels  the  immeasurable  worid, 
Attain  the  wise  indifference  of  the  wise  • 
And  after  Autumn  past  —  if  left  to  pass 
His  autumn  into  seeming-leafless  days  — 
Draw   toward    the    long  frost  and   longest 

night,  " 

Wearing  his  wisdom  lightly,  like  the  fruit 
Which    in    our   winter  woodland   looks   a 

flower.  * 


THE  CAPTAIN. 

a  LBCiENO  OF  THE  NAVY. 

He  that  only  rules  by  tenor 
Doeth  grievous  wrong. 

Deep  as  Hell  I  count  his  er  or, 
Let  him  hear  my  song. 


I  tctiis). 


The  Iruit  of  the  Spindle-trce  {Euonymus  Eur*. 


L..:::!!!.!^^-^  ^^^— ..^.w 


Sflll^^h''*"''  his  opprwsion. 
Stern  he  was  and  rash  • 

So  for  every  light  transgression 
T,P'^°™;dthemtotheTash. 
Day  by  day  more  harsh  and  cruel 
o^eem'd  the  Captain's  mood. 
Secret  wrath  like  smother'd  fuel 

Burnt  in  each  man's  blood. 
Yet  he  hoped  to  purchase  glory. 

Hoped  to  make  the  narni    ^' 

\{}u  "'^^^^l  K^^at  in  stoiy, 

Whereioe'er  he  came. 

So  they  pa.st  by  capes  and  islands. 

Many  a  harbor-mouth,  ^ 

Sai  mg  under  palmy  highlands 

farwithm  the  South 
On  a  day  when  they  were  going 

O'er  the  lone  expanse,  * 

In  the  North,  her  canvas  flowing. 

Rose  a  ship  of  France.  ^' 

Wf!  I    *^^P*?'.n's  color  heighten'd. 

Joyful  came  his  speech  •    *''""' 
But  a  cloudy  gladness  lightened 
..  J,^ 'he  eyes  of  each. 

Chase,    he  said  :  the  ship  flew  forward 

And  the  w'tid  did  blow ;  ^         '"^ard, 
^*,^,'.^  y>  hglitly,  went  she  Norward 

1  ill  she  near'd  the  foe.  ' 

H  i''7  ^°">'''  a'  him  they  hated 

Had  what  they  desired  :  ' 

Mute  with  folded  arms  they  waited  - 

-Not  a  gun  was  fired. 
But  they  heard  the  foeman's  thunder 

Roaring  out  their  doom ; 
All  the  air  was  torn  in  sunder, 

Crashing  went  the  boom, 

'r.EeffiiK;.'"''^-^'-'-""*''. 

'iv^rTL^es -'""^^  -"^ »'-''"  •• 

Onthe  decks  as  they  were  lying, 
Were  their  faces  grim. 

DM ',h'''°°'''-,^'  "'^y  '^y  dying. 
iJid  they  smile  on  him. 

1  hose  in  whom  he  had  reliance 

for  his  noble  name, 
With  one  smile  of  still  defiance 

bold  him  unto  shame. 

P,"i!k"^  «"-a'h  his  heart  confounded 
„.Pal?  he  turn'd  and  red,  °'°' 

lill  h,m.self  was  deadly  wounded 

Falling  on  the  dead. 
Uismal  error  !  fearful  slaughter  1 
c- y*?"^  have  wander'd  by? 
Side  by  side  beneath  the  water 
_  Crew  and  Cantain  i;»  • 
i  liere  the  sunlit  ocean  tosses 

U  er  them  mouldering. 
And  the  lonely  seabird  crosses 

With,  one  waft  of  the  wing 


I  THREE  SONNETS  TO  A  COQUETTE. 
Caress'd  or  chidde'i  by  the  dainfy  hanrf 
I  ii".'^^  "^'"SS'-'y  '"fle«  this  o   that       ' 
Light  Hope  at  Beauty's  call  would  p^rch  and 

And^r^un  thro'  every  change  of  sharp  and 

wt"i?SlS'hrdT„u^;,1  ^h'er'^'  ^  r    . 
And  chased  away  the  stfll  Ln      "^^  '''"■^> 
And  woke  her  wi'h  a  ]L  frn^  f""''!^  8°^'' 
But  now  they  hVe  li.KuTy  &i^Siss 
No?°LVertlf^^°P?4^-""-& 
creeds?  '^  '"  '°^"^  '^^^'"'^°'^^ 

And  Fancy  watches  in  the  wilderness 
Poor  fancy  sadder  than  a  singl^  star 
That  sets  at  twilight  in  a  laid  of  ?e'eds. 

^'a  1°^^'  "•*  '°''!"  «l°ne  is  eloquent  I 

ThaSu7tnT'"«  "^^^■:  ^'^^^  h"r  rest 
inan  but  to  dance  and  sing,  be  gaylv  drp^f 

Yet  in  Ih  ^"  T^  ^"^  ^»  accompis^^eiu    • 
M„  /^  wa't'^jng-circle  as  we  went  " 

if?y^«"fy  n^ade  me  for  a  momen"  blest 
To  fi^nd^my  heart  so  near  the  beauteous 

That  once  had  power  to  rob  it  of  content 
A  moment  came  the  tenderness  of  °elrs 
The^plumom  of  a  wish  that  oncelould 

^stfre -°^  P^'''°"  *''*'  "°  ™«es  re- 
For^aM  the  slight  coquette,  she  cannot 

^"'^<ihr"f'n '"'''^,'1"  *■"'  a  thousand  years 
nVir''  '^"^  '""^  praise.  anTJa^e 

Wan  Sculptor,  weepest  thou  to  take  the  cast 
Of  t.iose  dead  lineaments  that  near  the^' 

^f°Z7^'^  »hou,  pale  Painter,  for  the  nast 
In  painting  some  dead  friend  froKn,' 

^H?  °u-'  •'7°"'^  ''■^  "hject  Love  can  last  • 
His  ob;ect  lives  :  more  cause  to  weep  have 

My  tears,  no  tears  of  love,  are  flowing  fast 
No  t|.ar.s  of  love,  but  tears  that  LoVe  can 

I  ^edge  her  not  in  any  cheerful  cud 

Ah'ritV"  t-'"-"'''^  her  whereThe  sits- 
Rnt  h.  K\^  ~-^'"'  '*  ""t '"  human  tones 
Btit  breathe  it  into  earth  and  close  it  up  ' 

Sybo.^er"'-'"^'™^^"'™^*"'' 


ON  A  MOURNER, 

Nature,  so  far  as  in  her  lies, 

Trf^J     *-'?  '^'?1'  ^"d  *"">«  her  face 
To  every  land  beneath  the  skie^ 


A  MOURNER. 

nS  TO  A  COQUETTE. 

e-i  by  the  dainjy  hand, 
tnfles  this  or  that 
uty's  call  would  perch  and 

'ery  change  of  sharp  and 

and  at  her  pillow  sat, 
'und  her  i,.  his  rosy  band, 
the  still-recurring  gnat, 
a  lay  from  fairy  land, 
■th  Beauty  less  and  less, 
r  Hope  and  wanders  far. 
lisp  in  love's  delicious 

in  the  wilderness, 
r  than  a  single  star, 
light  111  a  land  of  reeds. 

3. 

lone  is  eloquent  1 
never  broke  her  rest 
andsing,  begavlydrest, 
P  all  accomplishment : 
ircle  as  we  went, 
(or  a  moment  blest 
so  near  the  beauteous 

to  rob  it  of  content, 
tenderness  of  tears, 
i  wish  that  once  could 

on  that  no  smiles  re- 
coquette,  she  cannot 

"eet  a  thousand  years, 
«  the  praise,  and  care 

I- 

t  thou  to  take  the  cast 

iments  that  near  thee 

Painter,  for  the  past, 
ad  friend  from  mem- 
object  Love  can  last  • 
re  cause  to  weep  have 

ve,  are  flowing  fast, 
tears  that  Love  can 

cheerful  cup, 
her  where  she  sits  — 
It  m  human  tones, 
and  close  it  up 
yer,  in  the  pits 
-hristmas  crams  with 


RNER. 

her  lies, 
turns  her  face 
h  the  skies, 


Counts  nothing  that  she  meets  with  base 
But  lives  and  foves  in  every  place ; 

2. 

Fillt  out  the  homely  quickset  screens 
And  makes  the  p^ur>e  lihc  r'?e. 

Steps  from  her  airy  hffl,  and  greens 
The^swamp,   where   hums  the  dropping 

With  moss  and  braided  marish-pipe  ; 

3. 

And  on  thy  heart  a  finger  Jays, 

Saying,  "  Beat  quicker,  for  the  time 
Is  pleasant,  and  the  woods  and  wayT 

Pu?  &'t"!5  ?""?  '■^^  l^^""  3"d  lime 
Put  forth  and  feel  a  gladder  ciime," 

And  murmurs  of  a  deeper  voice, 
Iroing  before  to  some  far  shrine 

Till  all'thv  life''"''*  "'^  strong/;  choice, 
II 1  all  thy  life  one  way  incline 

With  one  wide  will  that  closes  thine. 


SONGS,  ~  BO  A  DICE  A. 


With  that  fair  child  betwixt  tKorn. 

6. 
And  \.hen  no  mortal  motion  jars 

Ihe  blackness  round  the  tombine  sod 
Thro'  sUence  and  the  trembling  stafs  , 


Hi 

An?  v-^^'''',('°'"*''3'^'s  no  feet  have  trod. 
And  Virtue,  like  a  household  god,  ^ 

Promising  empire  ;  such  as  those 

Tri„.    ""''^ "".  ^""^^  °f  "'ght  did  greet 
Troy  s  wandering  prince,  ?o  thafhe  rose 
With  sacrifice,  while  all  the  fleet 
Had  rest  by  stony  hills  of  Crete. 

SONG. 

Lady  let  the  rolling  drums 

I  g'ow  t  Y^'  ^'^^'•^  ^^y  ™™  stands  • 
I  Now  thjr  tace  across  his  fancy  comes 

And  gives  the  battJe  to  his  hands. 

Lady  let  the  trumpets  blow, 
Clasp   hy  little  babes  about  thy  knee  • 
Now  heir  warrior  father  mee's^h"  fo^ 

And  strikes  him  dead  for  thme  aVdl'hee. 

SONG. 

Home  they  brought  him  slain  with  spears. 

They  brought  Rim  home  at  even-flp  ?"* 
All  alone  she  sits  and  hears  " 

iichoes  in  his  empty  hall. 

Sounding  on  the  morrow. 

'  The  Sun  peep'd  in  from  open  field 

The  boy  began  to  leap  a^d  j  ra„ce 
I  n.^"de  uponliis  father's  iancc 
I  Beat  upon  his  father's  shield  - 

O  hush,  my  joy,  my  sorrow." 


EXPERIMENTS. 

BOADICEA. 

&aro£^fcrvls^al!LT^ 

Far  in  the  East  BoadTcda  sSifl  Ii^^  f'^'^  ^"^  Druidess. 

s|f  ^ssi^/:^iS^«stevo,ubiiit. 

Vell^  and  shriek-d  betw'eS'&a^lUe^rot-i'.S^^^^^^^^^^ 

Must  their  ever-raver,in^S's  beak.   Tl'l"'  rnnobantr 
Tear  the  noble  hea  =  t  o-Tviffin   .„,.„  .-f"^  '.»'o»  annihilate  us? 
parK  An  answer,  Uri'ai-.'s  raven  TbiruJilTPi  quivering? 
Blacken  round  the  P-rnan  carH„n   l.i,  ".1  blacken  innumerable. 
Kite  and  kestrel,  wolf  ",  "wo  fL°n  from  t  ''  '^^.'^''  ^  skeleton. 
Till  the  face  of  Bel  be  bri^hten'dTarani.h. "''''*'"■'''''*•  """own  if, 
Lp  their  colony  half-defen'ded  1  Iri  »1  •       ,  °'^  P''»Pitiated. 

There  the  horle  of  Roma„'X°rs  moc^' t  a^^'l'""'"^'"'-  ' 

^j  "uers  mock  ,t  a  barbarous  adversary. 


»4» 


BOADICEA. 

S«  n-orciTSft  and  .en ; 

Lastly  yonder  yester-even,  suddenly  giddily  touerne-^  ' 


T       ■    .        "'^  """  waicn  a  ana  t 

LV^„':L'!^i°y^\°"'-  bantlinerfo  the  colon;*«Cr^;,fXV 

'"•  '"a  '  we  care  to  be  pitiful? 


cv.  11       1"=^  ""3  i\oman  Dantiinj 

ih^   ''^ '^«?h  It  a  Roman  lesson  r  shall  we  care  to  be  nitifi,l7 

Shall  we  deal  w.th  u  as  an  infan.  ?  shall  we  dandle  it  ail^oSy? 


W*hi2T;Jv'ld"'^"ou'i*e7oS' lonS^a'n^^^^^^^  I.-obant  I 

There  I  heard  them  in  the  daricS  a?^h.  ^"'^•'"f''"^*'"^' 

Thine  the  lands  of  la»l;.f„  '   ^^  '^"^  shadow  illim  table, 

ThinI  he  North  and  hineZ^q"'  ,7J«"y:H".^^°"""K  Paradises, 

So  they  changed  :  how  shall  KaTn^.u'*  """"  "'"  battle-thunder  of  God' 

So  they  chanted  in  th^  t^iSS'^^A^^^S'^-^^^l 

Wh^rlfL!  •  '"^y,"'°e  their  faces,  miserab  e  n  ienominv  I 

Shout  Icen  an   Cativirhf  ''?'"^-f  «•  unexhausted,  inexorable. 
Till  .kI    •  1-    'l  ^"^"'^"'^"'^n.  shout  Cor  tan  an   Trinohant 

ll^\V\fT  '''"  ^"''"  ''"^  y«""  ^o  hu?  y  preciKslv 

Rr^^i?'?  •^"^*".  Boadic^a,  standing  loftilv  charint,.,! 

So  the  silent  ^oi i,„,^  ";  r  ""^'^J^ear  an  oak  on  a  uromontnr., 

Clash  the  dartsa'n'a  on  theVuckS  b"ear"wi?h''^''^'5^"^'  • 
Thought  on  all  her  evil  tyranmes  all  her  ,  Hi/P"^  u-.animous  hand, 
lill  she  felt  the  heart  within"  er  fall  anH^/^*^  """.'"•      ' 
Then  her  pulse,  at  th.  ^^^^o^it^f t^^l^^^^^^^^ 


iror-ldhjt 
velaiin  I 

Coritanian  I 
rinobanc 

lassacred, 

ies. 

5es  and  men : 


ue  of  Victory  fell. 

une, 
rul? 
Dusly? 

ant  I 

?, 

my, 

ises. 

il 

my  narrow  thee, 

;hty  one  yet  I 

ebrated, 

e, 

Uses, 

hunder  of  God.* 

jpier? 

f  now. 

ntl 

imiliated. 


territory, 
s  — 

i.  ' 

icane  whiri'd. 

■lay. 

r  dwell  no  raoie. 
statuary, 
le. 

id, 

ttle  one  ou^ 

under  us." 

i'lity, 

ts, 

ary, 

irecipices, 

hand, 


'N  QUAXTlTy.  -  SPECIMJIX  OF  A  TRAWSLA  TWIT. 


IN  QUANTITY. 

MILTON. 

A  Icaics, 

O  mighty-mouth'd  inventor  of  harmonies. 
O  skill'd  to  sing  of  Time  or  Eternity  '' 

God-gifted  organ-voice  of  England, 


»43 


1  ower,  as  the  deep-domed  empyrean 
,  R'ngs  to  the  roar  of  an  angel  onset—. 
Me  rather  all  that  bowery  loneliness, 
ine  brooks  of  Eden  mazily  murmuring, 
And  bloom  profuse  and  cedar  arches 
Charm,  as  a  wanderer  out  in  ocean. 
Where  some  refulgent  sunset  of  India 
''''■cams  o'er  a  rich  ambrosial  ocean  isle. 

And  crimson-hued  the  stately  palmwoods 
Whisper  in  odorous  heights  of  even. 

Hendtcasyllabict. 

O  YOU  chorus  of  indolent  reviewers. 
Irresponsible,  indolent  reviewers, 
1-ook,  I  come  to  the  test,  a  tiny  poem 
A    composed  in  a  metre  of  Catullus, 
All  in  quantity,  careful  of  my  molioil, 

T  L.f  {7,f '^■=""  °"  'ce  that  hardly  bears  him. 
Lest  I  fall  unaware?  before  the  people,      ^ 
Waking  laughter  m  indolent  reviewers. 
Should  I  flounder  awhile  without  a  tumble 
Thro-  this  metnficafion  of  Catullus, 
Aiul^.   H^  speak  to  me  not  without  a  welcome. 
hU  ^'  ^'i'"'^'  ^^-  "1^°'^"'  reviewers.     '^*"=°'°'' 
Hard,  hard,  hard  is  it,  only  not  to  tumble 
So  fantastical  is  the  dainty  metre.  ' 

Wherefore  slight  me  not  wholly,  nor  believe  md 

O  hl.''//?',!:iP'"°'"'  '"''°'«"'  reviewers  * 

Sinrf  T  Ki  ^.^S»^'"es.  regard  me  rather - 
Since  I  blush  to  belaud  myself  a  moment- 
Hort^^  w""*'^  l""e  rose,  a  piece  of  inmost 
Horticultural  art,  or  half  coquette-like 
Maiden,  not  to  be  greeted  unbenigr;., 


SPECIMEN  OF  A  TRANSLATION  O?  TFE  ILIAD 
IN    BLANK  VPi  SE.  li-lAD 

ThAVir^"  7  u'  ■"""  -"^a.iJKiroaid  his  host; 
AnZil  t''  '.^«'|:  sweatm,^  iiorses  from  the  yoke 
And  each  beside  his  chario   lound  his  own  ; 
And  oxen  from  the  city,  ana  goodly  sheea 
In  haste  they  drove,  and  honey-hear.ed^ine 
And  bread  from  out  the  houses  brought,  and  h-ao'd 
Their  firewood,  and  the  winds  from  off  the  pU h,^ 


SPECIMEN  OF  A   TRANSLA  TlOff. 

Roll'd  the  rich  vapor  far  into  the  heaven. 
And  these  all  night  upon  the  *  bridge  of  war 
Sat  glorying  ;  many  a  fire  before  them  blazed: 
As  whan  m  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful  when  all  the  winds  are  laid. 
And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  Shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart  : 
So  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy. 
A  thousand  on  the  plain  ;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire  ; 
And  champing  golden  grain,  the  horses  stood 
Hard  by  their  chariots,  waiting  for  the  dawn.f 

•  Or,  ridge. 

t  Or  more  literally,  — 

fii^H  K'",^'-°'^y  grain  and  pulse  the  steeds 
Stood  by  their  cars,  waiting  the  thronid  mor^ 


Iliad  Ylll.  s^;.-56i. 


i  «  . 


Iliad  Vlll.  5^7- s(>x 


THE   HOLY  GRAIL. 

AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


THE  COMING  OF  ARTHUR. 

AnH  r»  '^"■'J^UKhter,  and  none  other  child  • 
And  she  was  fairest  of  all  flesh  on  earth  ' 
Guinevere,  and  in  her  his  one  delight    ' 

For  many  a  petty  king  ere  Arthur  came 
Ruled  in  this  isle,  and  ever  waging  wT 

AnH  =rS7  °"'^'"'  *^^'"=d  ^"  'hi  land  T 
And  still  from  time  to  time  the  heathen  host 
Swarm -d  overseas,  and  harried  what  was  left 

vv  Herein  the  beast  was  ever  more  and  more 
For  first  Aurehus  lived  and  fought  aiiddi^d 
^  t'elK'H-d^'h  Uther  fou/ht  and  d!  J 

£^|^ert?et'^A^„rAnS    ■r-ltp^"''' 
And  thro'  the  puissance  of  his  Table  Rom d 

TheiV  k  '  "'^"\Pf«y  Pnncedoms  under Tm' 

re"|i'd        ""^  ^"'^  '"^'^^  =*  reafm,rd 


'  fitting  the  child,  brake  on  him.  till,  amazed 
,  He  knew  not  whither  he  should  turn  ["^  aid 

!   ^"^ToS^'d'^  ""'"^  °^  ^'>-  "-'y 

!  Tho'  not  vvithout  an  uproar  made  by  those 
i  king'      "'  ''  ""'  ^'''•"'^  soif  ••  _  fhe 

For  hl°r!?  k';  '^^'"«i  "  Arise,and  help  us  thou  I 
t  or  here  between  the  man  and  beast  we  die." 


And  thus  the  land  of  Cameliard  was  waste 
tSin"''  "°°'^^'  '"'^  -^ny  a  b^lsl 

Her  own  brood  lost  or  dead,  lenr  her  fierce 

^"  '"Zused""'""^''    ""'^  *''«   ^'''^dren. 
^"  '"Vmwl,''"''  '•'"''  **  *'^«>'-  ">«»t  would  ' 

rut  "?"';'' A^T/°ster-mother  on  four  feet 
r.ll,  strajghten'd.  they  grew  up  to  wolWike 

^''"''''gJLn"  '^^  ''°'^"-    ^""^  K'°K  Leodo-  ' 

AnTrS  J°r  '^^  ?«■"?"  legions  here  again,  i 
And  Cssar's  eagle:  then  his  brother  kilg,'  ' 

Reddeninrth.     '■"  '  'l^'  ^  •^«^''^^"  horde. 


R,fi  k'^  ^?^"'■  y«*  '""J  'lone  no  deed  of  arms 

F^lf  TiH.  r  'i,l°°r 'u"S  downward  as  he  past. 
Sm!  J  nr,  K^*"'  °!J'"  «y«  '"'o  his  hfe*^^ 
hTs  t^nu  K  •"  ?'i"l'lr- /"  'Ode  on,  and  pitch'd 
His  tents  beside  the  forest.     And  he  drave 
The  heathen,  and  he  slew  the  beast,  and  felPd 
The  fore-st,  and  let  in  the  sun,  and  made 

!  A  doubt  that  e  JrSi^d^  l^fh^"^  Ja';;^' 

Fl.  If.'.Tie*  ^3'^^  ^"^  Barons  of  h.s  rel^m 

,  Flash  d  forth  and  into  war :  for  mo^t  of  these 

S^^'^-H'Sainst  him,  crying,  "Who  is  "« 

That  Je^should  rule  us?  whf* hath  proven 

Sfilll""'^  ^°P  ■  '■'"■ '°  '  *«  '°°k  at  him. 

JLlce""'  '^''  "°'  '''"^K'  ""bs  nor 
Are  like  to  those  of  Uther  whom  we  knew 

Thif  i^'h'  '*'"  "r^?"''"'^  ^«  theTingf''- 
Ihis  IS  the  son  of  Anton,  not  the  king  " 

Trav^1!^'*n!!I"^tP'*''*'"«.*''^"«  '"  battle,  felt 
irayaii,  and  throes  and  agonies  of  the  iifa 
Desirine  to  hp  «  nV  .^.-.uV.j^  "  ""  "™> 


I 


-...,  ..„„  i.iiuca  ana  agonies  oi  the  life 

An^T^  V  ^^  JT''"'  with^Guineve  e  ;       ' 
And  thinking  as  he  rode.  "  Her  father  said 


ni 


THE  COMING  OP  ARTHUR. 


I  If  I 


m 


Tiiat  there  between  the  man  and  beast  they 

Shall  I  not  lift  her  from  this  land  of  beasts 
Up  to  my  throne,  and  side  by  side  with  rne? 
What  happiness  to  reign  a  lonely  king, 
Vext  — O  ye  stars  that  shudder  over  me 

^'ill^/^^"  dreams?  for  saving  I  be 

To  her  that  is  the  fairest  under  heaven, 
I  seem  as  nothing  in  the  mighty  world 
And  cannot  will  my  will,  no?  w^rk  rliy 'work 

W^and°lor''H''''ffr''^  '","?'■■?«  °^"  ^«'^ 
victor  and  lord.    But  were  I  jo  n'dwith  her 

Ihen  might  we  live  together  is  one  life,       ' 

And  reignmg  with  one  will  in  everythine 

Have  power  on  this  dark  land  to  lighten  it 

And  power^on  this  dead  world  to^make  it 


nifi,'!''  ^''■}n  '''■°'"  "^«  '5'='^  of  battle  sent 
Ulfius,  and  Brastias,  and  Bedivere 

Hjs  new-made  knights,  to  King  Leodogran 

Saying,  'If  I  ,„  aught  have  served  thee  wel"' 

Give  me  thy  daughter  Guinevere  to  wife!" 

DeYatZ  "'^*<"H  "^  ^"V^^  Leodogran  in  heart 
debating  -  "How  should  I  that  am  a  king 
However  much  he  holp  me  at  my  need.  ^' 
Anrf^T^  "^  '^^i'.S'^'?'-  saving  to  a  king 
Anda  king's  son'-lifted  his  voice,  andcall'd 
A  hoary  man  his  chamberlain,  to  whom 
Sfs  cn.f''^.''".!';!"^^'  ="'d  °*him  required 

Then  spake  the  hoary  chamberlain  and 
,  said, 

'^'"^  knfw-''"*  ^^  ''"'  "*'°  °'^  ""^^  *''^* 

\^MfA^  IV'*^''  ''  "'"^  ^^  ^  :  and  one 
Kin;  TT  u  *"?.  wise  man  that  ever  served 

Is  !tf.Vr  -■■  ""■"  •"?  '"^''^  "t :  «"d  o"e 

Beforl  ,h^      ^'T  "'^^'.^^  •'"'  "^^  scholar  ran 
LalH  ml^  master  and  so  far.  that  Bleys 

All  fliTnf    ^^^  ""l^  '^'  '''"'  "^"W"'  and  wrote 
AM  things  and  whatsoever  Merlin  did 

\fMtF^^l  «"na'-book,  where  after-years 
Will  learn  the  secret  of  our  Arthur's  birth." 

"  n°fi-]!'' Tk  "if  r\'"^  Leodogran  replied. 
By  this  King  Arthur  as  by  thee  to-day. 
Then  beast  and  man  had  had  their  shkre  of 

But  summon  here  before  us  yet  once  more 
Ulfius.  and  Brastias.  and  Bedivere  '•  I 

Then,  whr-n  they  came  before  him,  the  ! 
.,  ,  .   K'ng  said. 

1  have  seen  the  cuckoo  chas/.d  >»"  '- r  I 

lowi.  "-■   ■  j 

Do'^th«f" '"•!"' ?'"'"?=  but  wherefore  now 
Soml^  ?/°"''a'"L'^'  l"""  "P  ^^^  heat  of  war, 
Some  calling  Arthur  bom  of  Gorlois,  '   I 

Others  of  Anton?    Tell  me.  ye  yourselves     i 
Hold  ye  this  Arthur  for  King  Utfier"i  «b  ?  » 


'ri'^"''u^i^"*  ""''.  Brastias  answer'd.  "  Ay  " 
Kn?^.,?'?'^"^'  'i'^''^^'  °f»"  his  knighVs'^" 
^  spakel   '^"'""'    "'    ^'    "°'^"i"g. 
For  bold  in  heart  and  act  and  word  was  he 
Wheneve^_slander  breathed   against    the 

Fn'r^ih»j''l''°  \t  many  rumors  on  this  head  : 

hearfs'  ^°''  '*''°  ^^'^  '^'«'  '"'heir 

^*"  ^'s'^.ee?/*'^*"'"'  *"<^  *'"«  his  ways  are 

And  theirs  are  bestial,  hold  him  less  than 
ni3n  ', 

And  there  be  those  who  deem  him  more  than 

iTlani 

^"^  '^beh^f''*  ^'"'^^  '"'""  heaven:  but  my 
In  all  this  matter -so  ye  care  to  learn  - 
^lr,  Jor  ye  know  that  in  King  Uther's  time 
1  he  prince  and  warrior  Gorfeis,  he  that  held 
Tintagel  castle  by  the  Cornish  .;ea,  "'^"""** 
An^^'  T^^t^  "'?  ^  winsome  wife,  Ygeme  • 
tfioP  ''"'  '''"  ''""''^  him.^-l™n; 
Lot's- wife,  the  Queen  of  Orkney.  Beilicent 
Hath  ever  like  a  loyal  sister  cleaved  ' 

Anrl  I  Lj,"""  ~  ^"  *  '°I'  ''hfe  had  not  borne. 
And  Uther  cast  upon  her  eyes  of  love  : 
Hut  she,  ai  stainless  wife  to  GorloJs, 

Thi?  r  ^'^  -''*  ^I't^  dishonor  of  his  love, 
1  hat  Gor  ois  and  Rmg  Uther  went  to  war  • 

ThlT/^'""  ■'^T-''^'  GorloTs-and  slain. 
W^^    ^fi'''"a-'.s  wrath  and  heat  besieged 
yef."'^  within  lintagel,  where  her  menf 
Seeing  the  mighty  swarm  about  their  wills 
Left  her  and  fled,  and  Uther  enter'd  in,      ' 

kl  rh'""  "m  u°"?  *°  ""  '°  hut  himself. 
So  compass'd  by  the  power  of  the  kine. 
Enforced  she  was  to  wed  him  in  her  te!«. 
And  with  a  shameful  swiftness:  afterward. 
Not  m^an^y  moons.  King  Uther  died  bim- 

Moaning  and  wailing  for  an  heir  to  rule 
An^'.^LT'   "'  'he  realm  should  go  to  wrack. 
And  that  same  night,  the  night  of  the  new 

year, 
By  reason  of  the  bitterness  and  grief 
lliat  vext  his  mother,  all  before  his  time 
Was  Arthur  bom,  and  all  as  soon  as  bom 
I  5^'w^''^  a'  a  secret  postem-gate 
1  o  Merlin,  to  be  holden  far  apart 
Until  his  hour  should  come;    because  th» 

lords 
Of  that  fierce  day  were  as  the  lords  of  this. 

I  dfifd^'         ^"'"''^  ^°"'^  ^^^'^  ""■"  'h^ 

I  Piecemeal  among  them,  had  they  known  ;  for 
each 

But  sought  to  rule  for  hisowo  self  and  hand. 
Atrd  r::::ny  nateu  U  ihcr  for  the  Mke 
Of  Gorlois    Wherefore  Merlin  took  the  child, 
And  gave  him  to  Sir  Anton,  an  old  knight 

Nul^:i*".l"*  '^'■""^  °^  ^'her  ;  and  his  4fc 
Nursed  the  young  prmce,  and  rear'd  him 

witn  ner  own  ; 
And  no  man  knew.    And  aver  since  the  lord* 


Jstias  answer'd,  "  Ay  " 
rst  of  all  his  knights 
ur    at    his    crowning, 

^act  and  word  was  he, 
breathed    against    the 

'rumors  on  this  head  : 
no  hate  him  in  iheir 

id  since  his  ways  are 

I,  hold  him  less  than 

odeem  him  more  than 

rom  heaven:  but  my 

ye  care  to  learn  — 
1  King  Uther's  time 
•  Gorlois,  he  that  held 
oornish  sea, 
nsome  wife,  Ygeme  : 
le  borne  him,  —  one 

)f  Orkney,  Beiiicent, 
sister  cleaved 
she  had  not  borne, 
er  eyes  of  love: 
5  to  Gorlois, 
ishonor  of  his  love, 
Uther  went  to  war: 
?rIoIs"and  slain. 
1  and  heat  besieged 
where  her  men, 
■n  about  their  walls, 
fther  enter'd  in, 
•all  to  but  himse'f. 
wer  of  the  king, 
i  him  in  her  tears, 
ftness :  afterward, 
i  Uther  died  bim- 

an  heir  to  rule 
should  go  to  wTack. 
i  night  of  the  new 

ss  and  grief 
before  his  time 
1  as  soon  as  bom 
em-gate 
far  apart 
)me ;    because  thi 

the  lords  of  this, 
■ould  have  torn  the 

id  they  known  ;  for 

3w^i  self  and  hand, 
r  the  sake 
rlin  took  the  child, 
n,  an  old  knight 
ir  ;  and  his  wife 
,  and  rear'd  him 

ver  since  the  lord* 


r/f£  COMING  OF  AR.    u'X. 


"*"'  Slvl!,*'"  '"'*  ^^^  •"**"  '"°°"8  them- 
So  that  the  realm  has  gone  to  wrack :  but 

This  year,' when  Merlin  (for  his  hour  had 

come) 
Brought  .Arthur  forth,  and  set  him  in  the  hall. 
Proclaimm^,    '  Here  is  Uther's  heir,  you; 

king,'  '  ' 

A  hundred  voices  cried,  '  Away  with  him  ! 
No  king  of  ours  I  a  son  of  Gorlois  he. 
Or  else  the  child  of  Anton,  and  no  king. 
Or  else  baseborn.'    Yet   Merlin  thro"   his 
craft, 

H>^  ^^a'!?  "**  P*°P'«  c'araor'd  for  a  king, 

to'rds'  "°^'^''  ''"'  af'er,  the  ^eat 
Banded,  and  so  brake  out  in  open  war." 

Then  while  the  king  debated  with  himself 
If  Arthur  were  the  child  of  shamefulnws 
Or  uZl^'  '°"  of  Gorlois,  after  deatl^    ' 
Ur  Uther  s  son,  and  bom  before  his  time 
Or  whether  there  were  truth  in  anytCe ' 
Sa;d  by  these  three,  there  came  to  d3rd. 
?oZ  ^°""^  Modred,  her  two 

Lot's  wife, 'the  Queen  of  Orkney,  Beiiicent  • 
Whom  as  he  could,  not  as  he  would,  Ilekng 
Made  feast  for,  saying,  as  they  sat  at  meat,^ 

yI'^^VP/''^  ']"■  u"^''' '"  °°  s"""""  seas  - 
™fng^  Arthur's  court :  think  ye  this 

ilJhV'A  ''"'S'"^'  ^Lowever  brave  they  be  - 
Hath  body  enow  to  beat  his  foemen  down  .> " 

"°t&fewj'*'  -^^i^d,  "and  I  will  tell 
Few  but  ali  brave,  all  of  one  mind  with  him  • 
For  I  was  near  him  when  the  savage  yeC  ' 

BounnTh'i'''  T"^'  °^  ^"^^  authority. 
Bound  them  by  so  strait  vows  to  his  own  self 

tg:'somr''^'  ^"'^'^"''^  fromTneef: 
Were  pale' as  at  the  passing  of  a  ehost 
Some  flush'd.  and  others  d^a.ed'  f  s  on'e  who 

Half-blinded  at  the  coming  of  a  light. 

"  ^lound  ''"  'P^""*  '^^  ^^^^''^  ^''  Table 

SondTvl'"''™  ''"'*  comfortable  words 
Frnm  r  ^  *°"«"?  '°  te"  thee-  I  beheld 
Arm^^^A°J'[.!li'i?.>il|!>"r  .Order  flash 

And  ere  .t  left  their  faces,  thro'  tSe  cross 

DoJn  fromX""'*  "  ^"^  »''«  Crucified! 
i^own  Jrom  the  casement  over  Arthur  smote 

On?f!]?^°^''''  ^^^  ^"f  *^"'«.  in  tCe  rays!'' 
Une  faii,j,g  ^        ^^^^^  of  three  fair  queens 

Sdi"     ''""  '"'''  ^'"  'l*'-^  the 


»47 

Sw^/?"'"'  ^''^'"K  °.V.  •''"'•  ta".  W'th  bright 
Sweet  faces,  who  will  help  him  at  his  need. 

""^"vlsl  wU   ^  '"'^  """^^  ^"""'  ^''<^*« 
And  hundred  winters  are  but  as  the  handi 
Of  loyal  vassals  toiling  for  their  liege      '^' 

"  ^"ike*'  ''""  *'°°''  ""*  ^"''y  °^  the 
nn,°h^'?°""'\-"^""  .>"»«!<:  than  his  own - 
Sh^^av^",h   't'^™."-*'  'iiy*"'^'  «""derful. 
sword         ^"^  *^*  cross-hilted 

Whereby  to  drive  the  heathen  out :  a  mist 
Of  incense  curl'd  about  her,  and  her  fece 
Welnigh  was  hidden  in  the'minster  £m  : 
But  thure  was  heard  among  the  holy  hymns 
A  voice  as  of  the  waters,  for  she  dwells 
Down  in  a  deep,  calm,  whatsoever  storms 

^rolS        ^^^^'  '""'  '"''*"  "^^  *"^»« 
Hath  power  to  walk  the  waters  like  our  Lord. 

There  likewise  I  beheld  Excalibur 
Before  him  at  his  crowning  borne,  tlie  sword 
1  hat  ro.se  from  out  the  bosom  of  he  lake 
And  Arthur  row'd  across  and  took  it -rich 
With  jewels,  elfin  Urim,  on  the  hih  ^ 

Bewildering  heart  and  eye -the  blade  so 

■bright 
That  men  are  blinded  by  it  -  on  one  side. 
Graven  in  the  oldest  tongue  of  all  this  world. 
Take  me,'  but  turn  the  blade  and  you  shali 

'Ca^^m"*"  '"  ^h"  "P"^''  y<^  speak  yourself, 
Last  me  away  I '  and  sad  was  Arthur's  face 

'Tak"eM!;„^'  "1^  ^'V'"'  c°"nsell'd  him  " 
away  ""''^ '   ^^^  ''™^  '°  «==»st 

rlV  ^":°u^\-^°  '•>'«  K'«t  brand  the  kine 
Took,  and  by  this  will  beat  lys  foemen  down!^ 

To^^frhU^n°^?^"  rejoiced,  but  thought 
'•  Thf  '^"'l  eyes  of  question  on  her  face, 

B,?^^'"'^'!''";^"''  "''^  ^^'ft  are  near  akin, 
But  thou  art  closer  to  this  noble  prince 

"  n^Lh?  own  dear  sister"  ;  and  she  s^id, 
"  An^^.h"  of  Gorlois  and  Ygeme  am  I  "  ; 
And  therefore  Arthur's  sister,"  asked  the 

She   answer'd.  "These  be  secret  things," 

and  sign'd  ^"^ 

10  those  two  sons  to  pass  and  let  them  be 
And  Gawain  went,  and  breaking  into  sone 
Sprang  out,  and  follow'd  by  his  flying  h^i? 
But  M  /  A°}''-  ??•?  ''^^Pt  »t  all  he  sal : 

AnH^K     'l'?;'l'"^  ''^  ''eside  the  doors. 

And  there  half  h»arH  ■  VN. -l   .     .?' 

ward     ""'  ••--'"-"»•- afler- 

^'™*^'do°om''*  *''''°"*'  *"**  *'"'''"«  ''"""'^  '''« 


9 


-#1 

iW    «"■  :tT 


And  then  the  Queen  madean-ner.     >Vhat 
know  I  ? 
For  dark  my  mother  was  in  eyes  a  a  hair 
And  dark  in  hair  and  eyes  am  I ;  a.,  i  d^i 


I 


I'f 


»48 


A  m^.h"'"  ""'  •"'^  dawnbg  of  my  fife 
•  f )   h"l"  'I'T"^'  and  J  hear  her  sav 
O  that  ye  had  some  br<Sher,  nrettv^'ie 

'To'ld'-^  °"  '"^^  rough^;*S  of'the 

"Ay.-'^^id  the  King,  ..and  hear  ye  such 
Butwhen  did  Arthur chariceupon  thee  first?" 

"  °  t'^rS  '"*'''  "'*''•  "  and  I  wiU  tell  thee 

Be''at«"Mii  k"'  ^r*""*  r'  a  Ji'tJ«  maid : 
Whp«  r  ^'^ ''""  '"'■  a  ""Je  fault 

And  wept^and  w.sh'd  that  I  were  dead '  ^nd 

And  mS  r't^^'^r-  ^"'"«  « '^hild  with  -,. 
As  T  ^lu^        "'^  ^"^  "•"«>  and  evern,  •  • 

At  times  he  seem'd,  and  sad  with  hv,     ' ,    i 
S  ern  too  at  times,  and  then  n"^},,:  ;.  ' 
?"' ™  agam,  and  then  I  lo^  -.  \  ^M' 
Buf^h^  "C^^*"  ]  ^'^  '^i'"  'ess  ana  U^^ 
am  th^^  first  days  had  golden  hour'    r.r 

For  then  I  surely  thought  he  would  be  king. 


TI/S  COMING  OP  ARTHUR. 


^""^  %Z.l'^''  '™^'  """^  ^  *«  "»>"«  was 
A  naked  babe,  and  rode  to  Merlin's  fe,.f 
"""^  '  1^  &r«'"  ♦'"'  bafe'Vn^c^ied. 
Here  is  an  heir  for  Uther  i  •  -m^  ♦»,.  f 

And  all  at  once  all  round  him  rose  ii>  fir» 
So  that  the  child  and  he  wel  rl.,'1  a-    i' 
And  presently  the^eaflr  fo  ovSm  ^"'• 
Free sky.and stars :  •  And  this^wme child. 'he 


TiM  thi^ie'ilS'd  -^  "r  ".°"''^-^  P";'  "'  P«ace 
Went  ?hr'-^ir  ..-.^""^  ¥•>:■"£  this  the  seer 


|:^^'^SrrS?gSr=;„et 
Merhn,^  a„d_ask'd  him  if  thes^  thing^wlre 

The  shining  dragon  and  the  n  ,ked  child 
gf,""d'?f  '"  -'^1;-'°'^  "'■'he  seas-  ** 
^  r  drffin//?  i'  h's  wont,  and  answer'd  me 
n  nddhng  triplets  of  old  time,  and  said ; 


'  Br.!  let  me  fell  thee  now  another  tale  • 

DSW/ti^"'i"'^ -"t^''^' as  thS'say, 
-rA  i;  °"t  of  late,  and  sent  h  s  cry  to  me 
Sh.^T,^""  ^P^ak  before  he  left  his  hfe 
A^,H  "  k'"''^,  =*  ^^""y  changeling  lay  the  maee 
And  m/J-  ^  '"*"^  '""'^  ■"«  that  hi^s^f ^  ' 
I  r?h„    K  r°  ^Y^""  ®?''^ed  about  the  kine 

When  mh'''^''V^''^'  ^"d  °"  the  nigh^t' 
vvnen  Uther  m  Tintage  past  awav 

Left  ";hf  ^"^,^e^''"S  ^°'-  ^"  h«i"  t^e  two 
breathe      ^"^'  ^"*^  ^^^^'"8  '■°«'' 

were  lost'- "'"  '''  ^^^^^'^  «"«^  ^^fth 

ft^'sel^M  'i'8\"P°n  the  dreary  deeps 

It  seem^d^m   heaven,  a  shipf  the^hape 

RrilhP"»r"«,''l'  ^f''  all  from  stem  to  stem 
Bright  with  a  shining  people  on  tl^  decks 

S^H^^^  tr-  M^i-J  and  then'  tt  So 
"   fall  '  """  "'^''■'"  d  tne  great  sea 

SnLf  a'Sf'  ^^'"^  •"ightierthnn  the  last, 
And  full'  of  vn  r  °"^'  gathering  half  the  deep 

R^'nL  flnrf  i^f'{,''°''''y  '■°^^  and  plunged 
Aoanng,  and  all  the  wave  was  in  a  flame  • 


"  'Rain,^ra;n,  and  sun  I  a  rainbow  in  the 

I  An^^M  ^  '"^,"  "^i"  ^  W'S"  by  and  by  • 

Ra  n  "I?"  *''J"^y  wander  e?ehe^die. 
!     Raiiwam,  and  sun!   a  rainbow  on  the 

An^  '■■"'!?  is  this  to  me,  and  that  to  thee  • 
And  truth  or  clothed  or  naked  let  i°  be     ' 

blows'  '"'' '"'"  '  '^^  '^^  f'^^  blossom 

^""'  Sows  p'^  '"" '  ""'^  ""^"'^  »  he  who 
From  the^^reat  deep  to  the  great  deep  he 

F«r^nn^,*''''"  Addling  anger'd  me ;  but  thou 
Fear  not  to  give  this  king  thine  only  child 

nereatter  ,  and  dark  sayings  from  of  old 

^T^l  m1""S'>?  fbro'  t^e  mindsof  men 
And  ecfio'd  by  old  folk  beside  their  fires 
For  comfort  after  their  wage-work  is  done 

^tt^I'^l^f^'  ^"4  Merlin  in  iur  tfrni 
Hath  spoken  also,  not  in  jest,  and  sworn 

But  ™«"  """^  *°""'' ''™  'bat  he  will  „o?die 
But  pass,  again  to  come ;  and  then  or  now 

Tiim^  '""'i  'i*?^  ''^athen  underfoot, 

1  111  these  and  all  men  hail  him  for  their  king." 

Bu1muS''?sLn'?^  I^eodogran  rejoiced. 
n„  ul  J  ^.  ,^hall  I  answer  yea  or  nav?" 
Doubtedand  drowsed,  nodded'andlp'^d 

F^VM'^ft^'l  i^  °f  'and  that  ever  grew 
Kai''f;."P  .*».»  b-^bt,  the  S' 

XV  ow  looming;  and  now  lost  ;\i;roS  stnl; 
"driver^'  "*"  '^•"'^  '''''  tire"herdZ' 
Fireglim^psed ;  and  all  the  land  from  roofand 
In  drifts  of  smoke  before  a  rolling  wind, 


and  h  the  flame  wa« 

de  to  Merlin's  feet, 
l>t  the  babe,  and  cried, 

here  andthefnuKe 
weeping  up  the  strand, 
18  J»e  spake  the  word, 
nd  him  rose  in  fire, 

e  were  clothed  in  fire, 
er  follow'd  calm, 

nd  this  same  child,'he 

could  I  part  iti  peace 
id  saynig  this  the  seer 
and  dreadful  pass  of 

I'd  any  more 
5.;  but  when  i  met 
if  these  thing-i  were 

Itheii  kedchild 
■  of  (he  sfss  — 
nt,  and  answer'd  me 
d  time,  and  said : 

1 1  a  rainbow  in  the 

ierby  andby.- 
ander  ere  he  die. 
a  rainbow  on  the 

and  that  to  thee  ; 
laked  let  it  be., 
nd  the  free  blossom 

I  where  is  he  who 

the  great  deep  he 

Ser'd  me ;  but  thou 
thine  only  child, 
5  of  him  will  sing 
ngsfrom  of  old 
tne  minds  of  men, 
:side  their  fires 
?e-work  is  done, 
erlin  in  our  time 
est,  and  sworn 
hat  he  will  not  die, 
ind  then  or  now 
underfoot, 
im  for  their  king." 

dogran  rejoiced, 
■er  yea  or  nay  ?  " 
led  and  slept,  and 

:hat  ever  grew, 
ght,  the  peak 
i  pnanjom  king, 
and  on  the  slope 
ill,  the  herd  was 

nd  fi"om  roof  and 

rolling  wind, 


tHE  HOLY  GRAIL. 


gled  with  the 
phantom 


Sireani'd  to  the  peak,  and  n 

haze 
And  made  it  thicker;    while  the 

king 

bent  out  ,it  times  a  voice  ;  and  here  or  there 
Stood  oms  who  pointed  toward  the  voice,  the 

Slew  on  and  burnt,  cr  «ng,  "  No  kinz  of  mi« 
N.0  son  of  Uther  ..nd  noting  of  ou^rs  "T' 
hize"*""  '*'"  ^^  <^''anged,  the 

Descended,  and  the  solid  earth  became 
As  nothing,  and  the  king  stood  out  in  heaven, 
U    T   .  Ax^  Leodogr,...,  awoke,  and  sen 
UlUus,  and  Brastias  and  Bedivere 
Back  to  the  court  of  Arthur  ans-vering  yea 


*44 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 


t  hargeii       warrior  whom  he 


to  .ide 


Thin  Arthur 
loved 

^"**    forlh'^''^  '°°*''  ^"  Lancelot. 
And  bring  the  Oueen  ;  -  and  watch'd  1, 

from  the  gates : 
■  nd  Lancelot  past  away  among  the  fluwers. 
'\mnna?K''r  '^''^^  April)  ancf  return  d^ 
Among  the  flowers,  in  Slay,  with  Guinevere 
lo  whom  arrived,  by  Dubric  the  SsIfnT 
Thi  .^  r^  "^T  '"  '^"'ain,  andtefore 
The  stateliest  of  her  altar-shrines,  the  king 

whiTe,"""  '"''"''*'^'  '^'"''^  '°  ^'^'"'«^^ 
The  fair  beginners  of  a  nobler  time. 

l!nigh"f  '"  "'"''  ^°^^     '"*  ''''"•  ^'^ 
Stood  round  him,  andreioicn  s  in  hi<;  iov 
And  holy  Dubricspread  liis  hands  and  ipa^ke, 

S  ^"'^  '°^'''  «"d  make  the 

Other  and  may  thy  Queen  be  one  with  thee 
Fulfif  hi'^K  Order  of  thy  Table  R^und  "' 
f  ulfil  the  boundless  purpose  of  their  king." 

^'"'Rom?*'  ""^"^'^se  feast  came  in  from 
The  slowly-fkding  mistress  of  the  world 
(.reat  lords,  who  claim'd  the  tribute  as  of 

''"'  '^SE'P^'"'  "^'''°''''  ^°'  "•"«  have 


^"°don"e°'*''^^  arms,  and  acts  of  proweM 
In  tournament  or  tilt.  Sir  Percivale, 
Whom  Arthur  and  his  knighthood  call'd  The 
r  ure,  •' 

Had  pass'd  into  the  silent  life  of  prayer. 

"^^'clw/'         '^""*  *°^  leaving  for  the 
The  helmet  in  an  abbey  far  away 
fromCamelot,   there,  and  not  long  .-. 
died.  ' 

And  one,  a  fellow-monk  among  the  rest 
Ambrosius.  loved  him  much  beyond  the  rest, 

A  i,^K  °i  '^  '^'T-  =""^  r°"?ht  into  his  hear 
A  way  by  love  that  waken'd^love  within 
lo  answer  that  which  came  :  and  as  thev  sat 

1  he  cloisters  on  a  gustful  April  morn 
1  hat  puff-d  the  swaying  branches  into  smoke 
Above  them  ere  the  summer  when  he  died 
Ihe  monk.  Ambrosius  questioned  '  ercivale  : 


Thi'^.M™^;?'^''V"^  worship  me  their  king  • 
°d  order  changeth,  yielding  pla«  fo 


new ; 

^'''"'  Roml?  '^"*'''  ^"^  ^^^""^  strove^th 

And  Arthur  and  hia  lr.„v»,th'iir»  <:->r  =  ^^ 
V.-ere  all  one  will,  and  thVo="SS^JtS 

Whi"  *^!,P.^"y  princedoms  under  him. 
Fought,  and  in  twelve  great  battles  over- 

came 
The  hea^ien^hordes,  and  made  a  realm  and 


"O  brother,  I  have  seen  this  yew-tree 
smoke, 
^pring  after  spring,  for  half  a  hundred  years  • 
t  or  never  have  iTcnown  the  worid  without.' 

Wh^n?'  f'.?^  •*  ''^y°"''  "^«'  P^*'**  =  •^"t  thee 
When  first  thou  earnest  -  such  a  courtesy 
Spake  thro-  the  limbs  and  in  the  voi'ce-I 
knew 

vZ  T^2^^^°^^  '*''^P  =»» '"  Arthur's  hall  ; 
qom!?*^  ^*  "'■*  "/-"^  ^^^^  and  like  to  coins. 

Stamp  d  with  the  image  of  the  King;  ,u,d  now 

Tound  "^  from  the  Table 

My  brother  ?  was  it  earthly  passion  crost  ? " 

"Nay."  said  the  knight;    "for  no  such 
passion  mine. 
But  the  sweet  vision  of  the  Holy  Grail 
And^^Hi'Ki  ''2'"  3li  vainglories,  rivalries, 
And  earthly  heats  tliat  spring  and  sparkle  out 
Among  us  in  the  jousts,  while  women  watch 
Who  wins,  who  falls ;  and  waste  the  spiritual 

_  strength  '^ 

Within  us,  better  oflfer'  \  up  to  Heavea" 

To  whom  the  monk :  "  The  Holy  GraU  I  — 
I  trust  ' 

We  are  green  --n  Heaven's  eyes ;  but  here  too 

much 
We  moulder  -  as  to  things  without  I  mean- 
'r^M°"°  of  your  own  knights,  a  guest  of  ours, 
1  old  us  of  this  m  our  refectory, 
Biit  spake  with  such  a  sadness  and  so  low 
We  heard  not  half  of  what  he  .said   Whafi'-'t*  '' 
1  he  phantom  of  a  cup  that  comes  and  goes  ? '» 

"  Nay,  monk  I  what  phantom  ? "  an-^wer'd 
Percivale, 
"The  cup,  the  cup  itself,  from  which     ;r  Lord 
iJrank  at  the  last  sad  supper  with  his  own. 
Ihis.  froni  the  blessed  landof  Aromat  — 
Alter  the  day  of  darkness,  when  the  dead 


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ijd 


Went^wanderlng  o'er  Morlah-the  good 
To '5?at,^CJ°«,ti-';neyi„g  brought 

Ai^=i:^raE^-f°-"^ora. 

Could  touch  or  see  ;ril  '  '"^  ''^^  '"an 
By  faith,  of  lifhi:  il  ^.  "  B"r,h'e',:'tf./!  °""> 
Grew  ,0  such  evil  that  the  holy  "Jo    ""'" 
"as  caucht  awav  (r.   u        '      " 

pear'd."    ^  '°  Heaven,  and  disap- 


THE  HOLY  GRAIL. 


To  whom  t^he  monk  .-..From  our  old  books 
S'ttelLTa'hen"'^  *°  Glastonbury. 

B".  who  first  saw  ti?;t^irtii5ra,. 

AndlTeTo  fi';tf,:roff'S  bf"!.^?'^'  "^  """> 

wirh\i,irsS^^^'-'-'y°-^^^^^ 

A  holy  S     ,fc!.'°"  "■'^'■"."'^  •■"""«. 

tera^^d^sr^^^^^^^^^^^ 

'■  '"'^  ^hepray'd  and  fasted  all  the  more, 

It      A  .    . 


Qi,,       ^veunigh  a  hundred  w  ntpr«  cAa 
^Pake  often  with  her  of  the  Ho N,^     •>' 

::"'""^ur-;f- "^^^ 

""'"'ctlfe^"""''^"'' «"--•«  hearts  be 

T&no^^KliS  '"  l!?^  '''°"Sht 
But  sin  broke  out    Ah  fe  ^'1°'"?  '"'Sai"  : 
come  -^"'^-nr'st,  that  It  would 

Warh'erl'^  Sdlf  "^^j^  -^'''=^-«  ! 
come     "*  'he  maiden,  'might  it 

To me^by  player  and  fasting?'    .Nay.'said 
She  might  Save  risen  and  floated  when  I  saw 


fed  a7ktr/oni^"''  '''■■-"^-' 

'  Sweet  brmher  I  l.^v^"^"'^^'  ,«"e  «aid, 
For.  waked'at  Sead  T„  gl^ri  he^n'^  G^^'' •• 

Bfo^ntaSfth^Tghf  l^-'':^"'-^^^""' 
Tohu.^bymS;ht.^Vrd'ff£S^: 

Co^ng  uVon 'me -te''  '^'^'-ce  grew 
No  •  aught  we  blow  u^.h'h  ^'T  "°'-  horn. 
^       w!th  hand?        '""'  ^"'^'''-  "'■  «°"ch 

sTr^eat^"„tceVa"c"^oM^«"V''.- 
beam,        ^  *  ''°^^  and  silver 

And  down^the  long  beam  stole  the  Holy 

And,hen^hem•uirc?dfd""„?d^he'P    •, 
Pass'd.  and  the  beam  dec%^:;.^j::i£\,. 

So  LTthT'E^ffi ''r°  ""=  "'«'^'' 
Among  us,  bVo.lfc.    fhJ ,h    ''?  •''^'"" 
And  tell  th'y  broth:;  k^  gh  s  to'^a'sfan  .'''■^■"• 
Ihnt  so  perchance  the  vi"o„  -  nv  h"'^  1'"^' 
By  thee  and  those   anrl  a     '.i  •  "^  ^^*n 
heal'd:'  '"   "'e  world  be 

To'aTl'mei^r;',';!  1%^""";,'  ''Pf'^''  "^"'is 
Always,  and  manv  nm!.    ^"^'^  and  pray'd 
Faste'd  'and  p^'^d'  even  t'o  1LT/  ^  ^^'^ 
Expectant  oFth^e  woTd^er'^h^il^^'^^rb"^'- 


Ani^^^^^-aS- 


^^Sj=^o^-h--.c. 

Her».  and  himselfher  brother  more  than,. 

Cnn^d'^KS'orircel'ifaiV'"'^"- 

•i-hat  gaS  "for'^m  7lPJ';;S„"i'  -^^  downV 
thev  come  •  "°'  whence 

For  when  was  Lancelot  wanderingly  lewd? 

"But^she.  the  wan  sweet  maiden  sho« 
And  out  of  thfs  shP  ni^r  7u '■''  '"'■  her  feet ; 


ing  of  them,  btautifui, 

Kr.Perci  vale, -she  said, 
l^ave  seen  the  Holy  Grail  • 

d  of  night.  I  heard  a  sound 
from  o'er  the  hills 

"gnt    ;  and  the  slender 

beyond  distance  grew 

w  with  breatfi,  or  touch 

'^^^"«a"'ej  ana  then 
cell  a  cold  and  silver 

i  beam  stole  the  Holy 

"pin  it,  as  if  alive, 

>)l.sofn,y  cell  were  dyed 
P"ig  on  the  wall  ■ 
faded,  and  the  Grail 
n  decay'd,  and  from  the 

died  into  the  night 
mg  IS  here  again 
ast  thou  to,,  ai.d  prav 
tn.ghtstofastandprav 
e  vision  n;ny  be  seen 
and  all  the  world  be 

)ale  nun  I  spake  of  this 
="  fasted  and  prav'd 
ong  us  many  a  week 
;n  to  the  uttermost, 
ler  that  would  be; 

amongus,  ever  moved 
lor,  Galahad, 
as  thoi.  art  benulifrl  • 
aubb'd  him  knight'; 

'  ever  made  a  ki.irht 
3  Oalahad,  when'  he 

tjie  with  amaze  ; 
like  her   own,   they 

""Other  more  than  1. 

1=  bad  he;  but  some 
:elot,  and  some  said 
t  — chatterers  they 
5ing  up  and  down, 
!  know  not  whence 

vanderingly  lewd  ? 

»'eet  maiden  shore 

ithatwealihofhnir 
-w'ork  for  her  feet ; 
"  broad  and  long 
wove  with  silver 


t//£:  HOLY  GHAIL. 


A  Crimson  grail  within  a  silver  beam  • 

*hVn  h •''"*'*''  ''°^'''"'^''''  '"^  ''"""^ 
Saying  '  My  knight,  my  love,  my  knight  of 

heaven,  " 

p  ihoii,  my  love,  whose  love  is  one  with  mine. 
J,  maiden,  round  thee,   maiden,   bind   my 

Go  forth,  for  thou  shalt  see  what  I  have  seen, 
And  b|-eak  thro'  all,  till  one  will  crown  thee 
king 

lu.  i'i  'I'fu'P'i''"?^',  '^■'y  '  '■  •■'"''  3^  s''e  spake 
'rt    .  ,  •'  '''^  deathless  passion  in  her  eyes 
Ihro  him,  Md  made  him  hers,  and  laid  her 

mind 
On  him,  and  he  believed  in  her  belief 

"  Then  came  a  year  of  miracle  :  O  brother, 

K,,°h!nn^'':f  K  ''i!^'  ',''"•=  ''?«'  *  ^^"nt  chair 
fashion  d  by  Merlin  ere  he  past  away. 

And  carven  with  strange  figures  ;  and  in  and 

out 
The  figures,  like  a  serpent,  ran  a  scroll 

A.\i  M'"^I"  ""  ^m",K."^  "°  nisn  could  read. 
And  Merlin  call'd  it  'The  Siege  perilous,' 

Perilous  for  good  and  ill;  'for  there, 'he  said   I 
No  man  could  sit  but  he  should  lose  him    ' 
sell    ; 

And  once  by  misadvertence  Merlin  sat 
in  his  own  chair,  and  so  was  lost ;  but  he 

Pr;  J'^.'^rr";'',^"  '"^  ''^^""^  of  Merlins  doom, 
<-ried,    If  1  lose  myself  I  save  myself ! ' 


strange  device, 


w'i!)*'.l"  °"  ^  summer  night  it  came  to  pass, 
U  hie  the  great  banguet  lay  along  the  hall, ' 
Ihat  Oaiahid  would  sit  down  in  Merlin's 
chair. 

"And  all  at  once  as  there  we  sat,  we  heard 
A  cracking  and  a  riving  of  the  roofs, 
And  rending,  and  a  blast,  and  overhead 
Ihunder  and  m  the  thunder  was  a  cry 
And  in  the  hlast  there  smote  along  t!;e  hall 
A  beam  of  light  seven  times  more  Slear  than 

nay : 
And  down  the  long  beam  stole  the  Holy  Grail 
AH  over  cover  d  with  a  luminous  cloud. 
And  none  might  see  who  bare  it,  and  it  past 
Uut  every  knight  beheld  his  fellow's  face 
As  in  a  glory,  and  all  the  knights  arose, 

StonH  ^iiTf  T'V'  °"'^'  '"''=  dumb  men 
btood,  till  I  found  a  voice  and  sware  a  vow. 

V.2  *'^\''«  a  vow  before  them  all,  that  I, 
Lixause  I  had  not  seen  the  Grail,  would  ride 
A  twelvemonth  and  a  day  in  quest  of  i", 
UUiI  I  found  and  saw  it,  as  the  nun 

And  good  Sir  Bors,  our  Lancelot's  cousin, 

^"^  ^k""h°-  '*""*•  ""^  "*"^'  *™°"S  the 

And  Gawam  sware,  and  louder  than  the  rest." 

Then  spake  the  monk  Ambrosius,  asking 

'  What  said  the  king  ?    Did  Arthur  take  the 
vowr  " 


"  Nay,  for  my  lord,"  said  Percivale,  -  the 
King 
Was  not  in  hall :  for  early  tliat  same  day, 
.Scaped  thro'  a  cavern  fron.  a  bandit  hold, 
An  outraged  maiden  sprang  into  the  hall 
Crying  on  help  :  for  all  her  shining  hair 
Was  smear'd  with  earth,  and  either  milky 
arm  ■' 

Red-rent  with  hooks  of  bramble,  and  all  she 

wore 
Torn  as  a  sail  that  leaves  the  rope  is  torn 
In  tempest :  so  the  King  arose  and  went 
lo  smoke  the  scandalous  hive  ot  those  wild 

bees 
That  made  such  honey  in  his  realm.  Howbeit 
Some  httle  of  this  marvel  he  too  saw, 
Keturning  o'er  the  plain  that  then  began 
1  o  darken  under  Camelot ;  whence  the  King 
Lookd  up,  calhng  aloud,  'Lo  there!  th? 

roofs 
Of  our  great  Hall  are  rolled  in  thunder- 
smoke  ! 
Pray  Heaven,  they  be   not  smitten  by  the 

bolt. 
For  dear  to  Arthur  was  that  hall  of  ours, 
-^3  having  there  so  oft  with  all  his  kr.iLhts 
i'casted,  and  as  the  stateliest  under  liSaven 


"O  brother,  had  you  known  our  niichtv 
hall,  "    ' 

Which  Merlin  built  for  Arthur  long  ago  ! 
For  all  the  sacred  mount  o,'  Camf '  n. 
And  all  the  dim  rich  city,  roof  by  roof, 
lower  after  tower,  spire  beyond  spire, 

'^Trook*"''    ^^'■'^^"■'■■*"'"'   »"d   '"shing 
Climbs  to  the  mighty  hall  that  Merlin  built 
And  four  great  zones  of  sculpture,  set  betwixt 
With  many  a  mystic  symbol,  gird  the  liail- 
And  in  the  lowest  beasts  are  slaying  men. 
And  in  the  second  men  are  slaying  he.i^ts 
And  on  the  third  are  warriors,  perfect  men 
And  on   the  fourth  are  men  with  growiir' 
wings,  '^ 

And  over  all  one  statue  in  the  mould 
V    P"'"!"";  made  by  Merlin,  •vith  a  cio'.mi. 
And  peak  d  wings  pointed  to  the  Northern 

And  eastward  fronts  the  statue,  and  the  crou  n 
And  both  the  wings  are  made  of  -old  ai  d 

flame 
At  sunrise  till  the  people  in  far  fields. 
Wasted  so  often  by  the  heathen  hordes. 
Heboid  It,  crying,  '  We  have  still  a  king.' 

"  And,  brother,  had  you  known  our  hall 

within, 
Broader  and  higher  than  any  in  all  the  lands ! 
Where  twelve  great  windows  blazon  Arthur's 

wars. 
And  all  the  light  that  falls  upon  tht^  hr.nr(\ 
Streams  thro*  the  twelve  grtat  battles'of  our 

King. 
Nay,  one  tTiere  is,  and  at  the  eastern  end, 
Wealthy  with  wandenng  lines  of  mount  and 

mere. 
Where  Arthur  finds  the  brand,  Excalibur, 
Ai.d  also  one  to  the  west,  and  counter  to  it, 


I 


is* 


THE  HOLY  GRAtt. 


1  he  brand  Excal.bur  will  be  cast  awav. 


'ho^rl,'?  £?  thi'  «tj?r''?  '•°,^«  'he  King, 


"|a,n^ofthosewr,o  burnt  the  hold,  their 

^r''i;>SS;eS:'-''^--dwith 

(because  ihe  lull  wis  a  I  fn     ^^'^'^'^a'c, 

vowi„g.a„dso.L--eti;?g:ra'LTs?si^?. 

,''''cttr'''^"^'°'''-'^--hathad 
fcln^'^nt-  '"'^  '•'^  ^^^''  hi«  face 

I^nrl<e„..^a,,d.  Woe  is  me.  n,y  knights,,  he 

^^^;i;;nnn-r-o.th_^ 

!^;^feitdr''^^^'^--or„..    -Vea, 
'   Graiir.  ""''^  '-"  ''^t  not  seen  the 

*"feigh°;'''''«'"-^»''««ound,Isaw 


And;;.,;;hs  ^'ri'te!,"^^"?. 

I-ancelot  is  Lai^cflot  ;,MV^^'?"'"''«^''  ■ '"ir 
Fivo  knights  at  once  Irf^"'  °verbornc  " 
,,        knrght,  "•  ^"^  «^ery  younger 

iCerbi^t'rtS^""'"^' 
Wi.at.^,.paafi^!^r„._^,,^_ 

(For  thusjt  pleased  the  King  to  range  „.e 

^^sl^SttwiH^Sl^' '""'"'- 
^    ,    of  rower   ''"^'"'°"g'>"hewrong'd, 

SifclLTfnl^ettlr'^"''^'- 
^^       and  dyed  *  ^'^^'  '^«'"«  ^Plash'd 

The  st.„g^^„,.  Horse  in  his  own  heathen 

GoSrce'^|,'i--;a„d  all. he  blind  willsee. 
Vet  -  for  ^e  know  fhe  cne^of  l-if'^^  "''^^'■- 

Too  dark  a  nronh»%  '  ^''^'^  niysclf 

count  *  ^?Jest,  may 

The  yet-unbroken  sfreneth  of -.11 1,;   i    •, 
Kejo.cing  in  that  Order  wh°"    I'Jde'^^'' 


/om  under- 


So  when  the  sun  bro'w- 

And  alt^ost  Cs,  thp  h    '•''*  ^•''"P'^  <^"ed, 
S''outing.L^^^&J>^-;n^;eirh^, 

1(  -n      . 


our  vows.'    '"^'"°'^«  have  we  sworn 


'"^cloud?'^"''^'-»hur,'haveyeseena 
What  go  ye  into  the  wilderness  to  see? 


■Then^Galahadonthesudden,a„dina 
Shnlhng  along  the  hall  to  Arthur  callM 
Isa"yth?Hofeif"ih«H'^y<^-^^^ 

/''''•L?u'ch^'^'«^'-^''nd,.said  the  King, 
B«t|ou,tnTo/Sffi?|;:BerV^t 


''''"^oJ;d"-"^'''''^y''^«''«fro'«under- 

roofs  '  ^"'^ ''™  '•  f°>-  where  tlie 

Met  foreh^Tdslin'^,''  °'^V '"  ^^^  ^^y. 
Who  watch'd'us  pa  s  •^an'^V'^'^"'  "^'^ose 
„ .       the  long    ^      '  '""^  '°^^'='''  and  where 
RicheallenVQ  hd- uj,         •  ,,. 
Of  dr£gons  f 'd'in"  to  ?h'  ^"^^'^  '^e  necks 


was  hard  upon  his  knights^ 
ullest  throat  of  song,         '■' 

lot.  and  hath  overborne  " 
"nee,  and  every  younger 

imself  as  Lancelot, 
'"e,  he  learns -a„'d  ye, 
ahads,_no,  nor  pirci- 

d  the  King  to  range  nie 

'nay,' said  he, 'but  men 
"'■ll  to  right  the  wrong'd? 

leads  of  violence  flat 
Ive  great  battles  spla;h'd 

forse  in  his  own  heathen 

nd  all  the  blind  will  see 
are  sacred,  being  made  • 
'ecnesofaJlmyream 
' t'w often,  Omvicnij,!.,; 
cant  at  my  side  ' 

deeds  will  come  and  CO 
you  follow  wandering 

manyofyou,yg.,,„ 
"'nk  I  shoiv  myjclf 
come  now,  let  us  meet 
nee  more  iu  one  full 

lat  once  more  the  kinir. 
1  for  this  Qjest,  may 

"gthpfall  his  knights, 

■■o'v-  >om  under- 

J."  Arthur  cJ>jsed 
omney  and  so  full, 
—  never  yet 

^e.sinceArthurcame- 
lad,  for  a  strength 
Jii,  overthrew 
'  the  people  cried. 
Tiers  m  their  heat, 
md  Sir  Percivale  I ' 

y  brake  from  under- 

Ti  our  Camelot, 
ter  age,  so  old 
rs  that  it  would  fall, 
dim ;  for  where  the 

'<■  in  the  sky, 

le  street  of  those 
i  lower,  and  where 

•Kfeigli'd  the  necks 
crazy  walls, 
lunder,  showers  of 

and  boys  astride 
nffin,  swan, 


At  all  the  corners,  nan.ed  us  each  bv  name. 
Calling  '  God  speed  ! '  b;,t  in  che  street  be7o% 
Ihe  knights  and  ladies  >vept,  and  rich  and 

^^^''s^'eak'^*  King  himsel.'  could  hardly 

For  grief,  and  in   the   middle   street   the 
Queen, 

Who  rode  by  Lancelot,  wail'd  and  shriek'd 

aloud, 
'  This  madntss  has  come  on  us  for  our  sins  ' 
And  then  we  reach'd  the  weirdly  sculptured 

gate,  t-     >-u 

Where  Arthur's  wars  were  render'd  mysti- 
cally, ' 

And  thence  departed  every  one  his  way 

Of",nl^  \V^  l"'"'^''  "P  '"  ''^^f*'  ■■»nd  thought 
Vi  all  my  late-shown  prowess  in  the  lists. 
How  my  strong  lance  had  beaten  down  the 

knights. 
So  inany  and  famous  names  ;  and  never  yet 
Hrtd  heaven  appear'd  so  blue,  nor  earth  so 

green, 
Fo;  all  my  blood  danced  in  me,  and  I  knew 
That  I  £hr,  Jd  light  upon  the  Holy  GraJ  " 

"  Thereafter,  the  dark  warning  of  our  Kins 
That  most  of  us  would  follow  winder  ngfiref' 
Came  like  a  driving  gloom  across  my  S  ' 
I  hen  every  evil  word  1  had  spoken  once 
And  every  ev,  thought  I  had  thoiigh^of  old. 
And  every  evil  deed  I  ever  did,  ' 

A^d°  ifftlnf  ""^'-  "^'^''  ^"^«'  '^  "°t  for  thee.  • 
AKn!  o  §  "^'  mine  eyes,  I  found  myself 

And^' wl'^v  ^  ^""^  "^^^"'^  «"d  thorns, 
And  I  was  thirsty  even  unto  death  • 

And  I,  too,  cried,  'This  Quest  is  not  forthee.' 

'  "^Ihi^s"  ^  '°'^^'  ^""^  '^''^"  ^  "'°"s'''  ">y 

^""^'b^ocfk,'""*  ^^  '^""P  '^^"''  ^"'^  ^"^en  a 

^^"''  white''"'''  "P''''  ^^'"^  *'^^  *=^"^P'"g 
Aifj'l^l^i '''*?''  "P°"  ^^^  sloping  wave, 

bmok°"'  '"  '"^  "y"'  ^"'l  <^''^'  'he 
)?l^?r.^J'PP'?-fees,  and  apples  by  the  brook 
:  lawns,  '  I  will  rest  here,' 


Tff£  HOLY  GRAiL. 


S'''?.^m°"  the  ..wns,  -I  will  rest  \ 
1  said,    1  am  not  worthy  of  the  Quest '  • 

And  thirsting,  i„  a  land  of  sand  aud  thorns. 

'.'  And  then  behold  a  woman  at  a  door 
Ind"S";l"^  '■^'^  "^^ '"'"''«  «"'ereby  she  sat 

And  Ml  h.r  r  ''°'"''"  '  "y"  «"d  innocen  ,   ' 
Ann  all  her  bearing  gracious  ;  and  she  rnU 

Opening  her  arms  to  me^t  me.'  as  who  should 

'"'"'s'lirt'.^o'"'  "•''"' '""'^''^'l ''«■'•.  '»' 

£",me°nn"h*i"''  V°"''"^'  ="'^  "^^  house 
JJecame  no  better  than  a  broken  shed 

F.Il  -"."^^  ^=-''^  "^"ho  :  and  also  tl  fs 
Fell  into  dust,  and  I  was  left  atone 


253 

Th'l^S?  T-l  '■°^?,'  '"'^  greater  was  my  thirst 
1  hen  flash'd  a  yellow  gleam  across  the  world 
And  where  it  smote  tKe  ptoughshare  h,  the 

The  ploughman  left  his  ploughing,  and  fell 

Before  it ;  where  it  glitter'd  on  her  pail, 

wetore  it,  and  I  knew  not  why,  but  thoueht 

Ihe  sun  >s  rising,-  tho"  the  sun  had  rlcMi 
1  hen  was  1  ware  of  one  that  on  me  moved 
In  golden  armor  with  a  crown  of  gold 
fn  rf/  """"^  all  jewels  ;  and  his  horse 
In  golden  armor  jeweil'd  everywhere  • 
And  on  the  splendor  came,  (lashing  nieblind  • 
And  seem'd  to  me  the  Lord  of  all  the  w<   Id' 
Being  so  huge.  But  when  1  though  he  neam 
I  o  crush  me,  moving  on  me,  lo  !  he,  loo 
Opened  his  arms  to  embrace  me  as  he  came 
And  up  I  wenc  and  touch'd  him,  and  he  too' 
i-ell  into  dust,  and  I  was  left  alone  ' 

And  wearying  in  a  land  of  sand  and  thorns. 

"And  I  rode  on  and  found  a  michtv  hill 
Arid  on  the  top,  a  city  wall'd  :  the!p  ?es  ' 
Pnck'd  with  iMcedibl'  ri::n,,clesin,oCaven 
And  by  jhe  gateway    t.rd  a  crowd  iTd 

Cried  to  me  climbing,  'Welcome,  Percivale  I 
Thou  mightiestand  Hiou  purest  among  men  ! ' 
And  glad  was  I  and  clomb,  but  found  at  too 

r,r  ','Jf  "•-  """^  ?"y  ^°*?«-  A"d  "'ence  I  pas"^ 
vu  .""■°  ^  """^"o^s  city,  and  I  saw 

Tfoimd  """ '^*^"  there;   but  there 
Only  one  man  of  an  exceeding  age. 
'  TW     "  '4'  Soodly  company,'  said  L 

That  so  cried  out  upon  me  ? '  and  he  had 

'  wL"  ^"y  "Tl '"  ='"''^".  and  ye  gasp'd 
Whence  and  what  art  thou  ?  '  andevfn  a^s  he 

Waiieft  nif  *'  ^"'^  ^'saPPear'd,  and  I 

And  touch  It.  It  will  crumble  into  dust.' 
"  And  thence  I  dropt  into  a  lowlv  vale 

te  fowes't  "^  "  "f  ^t^  ^"^  whlre'the  v'ale    . 
was  lowest,  found  a  chapel  and  thereby 
A  holy  hermit  in  a  hermftage,  ^ 

To  whom  I  told  my  phantoms,  and  he  said  : 

ThTv  1°"'.  "^"^  hast  not  true  humility. 
The  highest  virtue,  mother  of  them  all  • 
For  when^the  Lord  of  all  things  made  Him- 

Naked  of  glory  for  His  mortal  change, 
Take^tlwu  my  robe,"  she  said,  "  fSr  all  is 

^'"^  ^'Ihr  '°'''"  '''°"^  '°"h  with  sudden 

Fn1ln^M\-^"!^'^  were  amazed,  and  she 
Follow  d  him  down,  and  like  a  flving  star 
Led  on  the  gray-haiVd  wisdom  of  the  east  • 
;P"' her  thou  hast  not  known  :  for  what  is  his 
1  hou  thoi  ghtest  of  thy  pre  wess  and  thy  sins? 
]h0H  hast  not  lost  thvself  to  save  thyself 
As  Galahad.'  When  the  hermit  made  an  end 


I 


■\\ 


»S4 


-'IW 


L.d  ia„ce.^a„d  enter'd.  .na't'V^  .•„ 
And  .l,e.  the  her.it  slaked  my  hunting 

' -w  .he^4l' ,lr^f^,"P°!j  the  shrine  : 

A  c  h7trr%r{'Jr°  '"^  ^?S  -^  went; 
.Math  what  .hvir.lL","''."«ve>- yet 


T//£  HOLY  GRAIL. 


II  ,.V    L.       .  "  '  come;  and  r 


w„,c  ""y  s'tie.  nor 

l-'ahuer''by"da';)°bu"t^,l  ■'■'''  '"'=  "'g'"  »"d  day. 
lilood-red!  and  slirf.f,.^'^^"  '"  1"^^  "'«'" 

ma^h  ^  '^°*"  "^«  biacken'd 

B!oo&andi;r.I^?^'"=-^'"°""««i"t°P 

Andpa^t|ro.pt^-^r,raKa&e. 

^'    tSlt''  ^^^^"  ''-''-.  and  bore 

Conle'^W^tVr"'";^;' -/ 1^  T^T"  °^"- 
And  hence  I  kg  and  L'i  •. f  ''^''d^'"  ^and, 
Far  in  thespi^Uualcitv  ,  i"  ""*"  "Peking 
For  thou  sh'^a.fs"e^e'tt^;i3?o'uXn't"g"c;;°°- 

^"^'n'miS:'^^P'''^''''^«ye.  dwelling 


'Thereroseahillthat  none  butman  could 

t'onn'^a^'S  lon'^f '7' "^  watercourses- 
sform       ^'  ^"'^  ^''"="  ^^  gain'd  it. 

^°""gla"n\er  ''""''  ^°--0^-n,ent 

H.ss,lver^arms  and  gloom'd;  so  quick  and 

ll.eli^^htni„g3  here  and  there  to  left  and 


Open-d^and^blazed  with  thunder  such  as 
Shoutings  of  ail  the  sons  of  GuH    .„j  r 

aoh»j;„'»,f.ltti'°;'.^"™5 

Anu^„th=hi,sri:!s~j'£3 


••Obro.her."ask'dAmbrosius.-..fori„ 
'''"^re?J^\S^-«'>^"-y  would  win 

wtS,ra:,''/LVr'S.s^St?S's 
W°J  '"  "Tli'^^  ;  which  oftentte?  e^T 
™°  '"'1'^  ^"'  "■?  ""y  breviay  with  ease 
Till  „yj,ead  sw.ms  ;  and  the'n  go  forufknd 

Sal^^iStefS^S^- 
lothese^oldwalls-and  mingle  tith'our 

l<.,..ce,.  small  man,  in  ,hl,  ,„,||  „,u  „, 

SoE;i;;.7,tK'^i".i,'»"'-- 


d  with  tliu.ider  such  as 

5  sons  of  God  :  and  first 
far  on  the  great  Sea. 
mor  starry-clear; 
ihe  holy  vessel  hune 

mite  or  a  luminous  cloud 
:  swiftness  ran  the  boat 
saw  not  whence  it  came 
vens  open'd  and  blazed 

'ike  a  silver  star  — 
sail,  or  had  the  boat 

i»tureclad  with  wings? 

le  lioly  vessel  hung 

e,  a  joy  to  me, 

eii  had  been  withdrawn 

'hen  they  blazed  again 

least  of  little  stars 

and  straight  beyond  the 

y  and  all  her  spires 
ory  like  one  pearl  — 
>al  of  all  the  saints  — 
and  from  the  star  there 

the  city,  and  there 
was  the  Holy  Grail, 
earth  again  shall  see 
'  heaven  drowning  the 

ss'd  the  deathful  ridce 
s  ;  but  that  I  touch'd 
dawn  I  know;  and 

rem  the  holy  man, 
ext  me  more,  return'd 
he  gate  of  Arthur's 

^mbrosius,  — "forin 

and  they  would  win 

is  Holy  Grail, 
■els  like  to  these, 
ftentime  I  read, 
iviary  with  ease, 
d  then  go  forth  and 

'■  that  lies  so  close, 
;  a  martin's  nest 
d  mingle  with  our 

St  face  of  theirs, 
knew  his  sheep, 
in  their  hearts, 
P  and  old  wives, 
•ethings,  ]yings-in, 
dren  of  the  place, 
'  a  league  away : 
les  when  they  rise, 
?s  at  the  market- 

s  small  world  of 

1  in  their  eggs,  - 
-'aiaha4 


Came  ye  on  none  but  phantoms  in  your  quest 
No  man,  no  woman  ?  "  sucsi, 

"All  men.  to  one  so  boTnd  b'y^suchTlow  = 
And   wonven^  were    as  phan'toms'  'c  "^^'y 

R  raiVfaiir'd" ?"  •"'  *°  '=""'■'=«  '°  thee 
?o,  J.      I  '^"if,d  from  my  quest  and  vow  ? 
For  after  I  had  lam  so  many  nights 
A  bedmate  of  the  snail  and  eft  and  snake 
Anfn''*'""'  ''"'i'"?^'  ^  was  changed  to  wan 
AnH  T''^?'^"'^  '^.^  ^'■*''°"  had  not  come! 
And  then  I  chanced  upon  a  goodly  town 

n  h',1    "f  ^'"^^  ''*«"'"«  '"  the  middle  of  >  ■ 
V^ITa^  made,  and  there  was  I  disa?m'd   ' 
By  maidens  each  as  fair  as  any  flower  • 
But  when  they  led  me  into  hafl,  behold 
Ihe  Princess  of  that  castle  was  the  one 
Brother,  and  that  one  only,  who  had  ev^r 
A.U  y  '''"''  ''.I'P '  '■<"  "-h^n  I  moved  ofold 
And    hr^P.f^V''""'.'^"^^  '■^"^"■^  hall, 
win,  ,?,*  slender  maiden,  all  my  heart 
Went  after  her  with  longing  ;  yet  we  twain 
Had  never  kiss'd  a  kiss,  or  vow'd  a  vow 
And  now  I  came  upon  her  once  again 
AnH  °.n\'^*1  ^V^'^"^  ''«■•.  and  he^WM  dead 
hei    '"'^  and  wealth  and  st^e  were 

And  while  I  tarried,  every  day  she  set 
A  banquet  richer  than  the  day  before 
By  me  ;  for  all  ..er  longin?  and  her  will 
Was  toward  me  as  of  old  f  till  one  faTrLm 

Tlu   flasf  -H  ""'^  f- beside  a  Syrian"  """'■ 
i  iiat  flasl  d  across  her  orchard  underneath 
Her  cast  e-walls,  she  stole  upon  mv  wa?k 

Flir^r'^l^  '^■'  "]«  g'-'^^'"'  of  airknTghts 
Embraced  me,  and  so  kiss'd  me  the  first  tiine 

WeH^hnJ'  '*y%''>  a"d  we  well  believe  : 
Wed  hou  our  Lady,  and  rule  over  us 
And  thou  Shalt  be  as  Arthur  in  ou   land  •        ' 
i^^:  '"y  "pother !  but  one  night  my  vow 
Bu  lTl'7j"r'  '°  "^="  I  rosf  and  fled, 
t\t  '^^^''  '""^  ^'''^^  mine  own 

Tlien%te^Av^°''^%^''.  ?"^  «"  ^nt  her; 
Cari.H  nif  /  I^*  J°"'  '^  w«h  Galahad 
C^red  not  for  her,  nor  anything  upon  earth." 


TffJS  HOLY  GRAIL. 


»S5 

Beyond  all  sweetness  in  j,  life  so  rich  - 
Ah   blessed  Lord,  I  speak  too  ea"thlCwise 
H  ,   -^  ■  "everstray'd  beyond  the  cen 
But  live  hke  an  old  badger  in  his  ear  h 
With  earth  about  him  everywhere?  despite 
All  fast  and  penance.    Saw  ye  none  Se 
None  of  your  knights? "  i^eside, 

.iri •  u^  ".^^  so,"  said  Percival(«- 

T?.^  7^'''  -"y  pathway  swerving  east  I  saW 
Ihe  pe  lean  on  the  casque  of  ouFSir  Rr.™ 

^"'^  "Jfrfelf  "'"S  what  he  rode  :  and  when  I 

Q  ^l^y^\ ,',''?"  "'«"  so  hotly  on  a  quest 

So  holy  ? "  Lancelot  shouted,  "  Stay  me  not  I 

!,have  been  the  sluggard,  and  I  ride  aD^ce 

fo%a"m^h''S^^"^'-"-"''--y-"     '      • 


fcl'LSu^^'^bt\1d7:^s^ 

The  Holy  Cup  of  healing;  and,  indeed 
Being  so  clouded  with  hfs  grief  and  love 
Small  heart  was  his  afterlife  HoT  Quest  • 
If  God  would  send  the  vision,  well  .■    ["ot 
Ihe  Qiiest  and  he  were  in  the  hands 


/'"?ulet;:'o!d"°"''''^°°'-'""'-hen 

And ',hfc  ""'?"'  "'.^■■'  ^y  'i«'e  fifes. 
And  this  am  I,  so  that  ye  care  for  me 

f  h'^t  brcSi  ^r^'H^'^dblest^e  Heaven 

brought  thee  here  to  this  poor  house  of 

"jokir  """^  ^"'  ^""^ "'''' "'°'« - '» 


""^"Bors*"'  "^'"^  *""*"  ^^^^ftufe  met.  Sir 
Rode  to  the  lojiest  tract  of  all  the  realm 

Our  racTfnH??"^'  '^'"^  ^""""K  -heir  c^s. 
Pavnfr^    and  b  ood,  a  remnant  that  were  lef 

Thev^,^;^"'  "'^"-.'^r'"^'  «"d  the  stones 

^  w  s^  Z  ""'^''' '°  ''"^«'"  ■■  and  their 
"^se  men 

trace  ^  '"  """  "''^  '"^^'^  *''''=''  "" 

^""^  "^h  "r^^""^  °^  ""'  ^'*"'  *"^  *<=°fi"d  at 

TnM ' k"'  '''I''  %''?,^^  ""'-  3t  a  simple  thine : 
^^^^^''ifol'oWd- almost  Arth'Lr's 

A  mocking  fire  :  '  what  other  fire  than  he 

tows.'  ^^°°^  ''"'^'  ^"d  'he  blossom 

And  the  sea  rolls,  and  alltheworid  js  w^rm'd?' 


; 


m 


'56 


V  ? 


Audwhen^hi,  answer  chafed  them,  thorough 
""'"^fiei;''^''  «  '^^^  with  .heir 
Seued^him.  and  bound  and  plunged  him  into 
Ofgre«  piled  stones;  and  lying  bounden 
HeST.hl''rn'"""'"«"bIe  hours 

SeSiH^"^^-=r- 
s->raa-rrafth-.s 

""'"Tnfgf  "■•-'"-«  «-d:  then  came 

Saidgood^Sir&orsn^-raK-peTW 

Who  scarce  had  pray-d  or  ask'd  it  for  my- 

Across^th^seven  clear  stars-0  grace  to 
In  color  like  the  fingers  of  a  hand 

Sran'dT^f'afr-!''^' '"'«-■•' 

AsharpSk':run'd"e'r/'°Alerrr"ds''aPm\^':'' 
Rrt?'  °r  ''"'y  '■«*">  among  her  kln™^''"' 
In  .ecret.  entermg  loosed  and  fet  him  go." 


T//£  HOLY  GRAIL. 


'  And  I  remember 


To  whom  the  monk  ; 

now  "'>^» 

Wt  rpS  soTw  anTsTn'i  =  ^''  «°-  ''  -" 
And  mTghty  reverent  ff^^'^  ^'  °"'  ''°"d  ; 

A  squariseVm'arand'hone'sf 'Tnd7?  ^'  = 
An  out-door  sien  of  all  thl      '  ^"."^  '"*  ^>'es, 

Smiled  with  h^  lipsi-a  smT'h  ^'""J' 
cloud,  "^  ®""'®  beneath  a 

"~^.-ei:i^^»rye 

gwShS:^4lteSt^-'^. 
King'"''''"  ^^'"^  "-^h,  aWha?'.he 


An7tf  rhat^'hl'd^r "  "'^  "^'-♦'''""•^ 
Quest.  ^    ^"""^  •""    upon  tj!; 

£"£e^hrhad"?„r "  •'''T"^''--. 

King  ''^'*  ""'•   ^'""'i  beCo.e  the 

^'-o.w'|e«hesawme.ro,e.andbademe 

&?e^ar'o^f  sTrird^iili'--  T  ^P^-' 
On  hill,  or  plah,!  a   sea  -  <?    -5'"  ^°'  "'" 
So  fierce  a  gale  ma  if  hi    '  ^u°'^'"S  <"ord. 
Among  (he  stran^^  .f.^''°''  ^"^  "'"'ate 

.  ""wam.wasthisQuestrorthee?' 
'"Nay.  lord.' said  Gawain.  -not  for  such 

wtiVmruSe'cr''''  ^  ^^'""y  -^". 

"""fa''- """'""  ■"".■d  to  whom 


'^''^^^^answer'd    Percivale 
o"o  Stil';r'/3Yt-/''«  'iving  w'ords 

S^^i;?^S^^i^'^!i;-i:i^^ices. 

stones  "  '"  """  'cit  the 

Raw.  tUt^they  feu  from,  brought  us  to  the 


"^terir^'^"^'"'^''"'  Lancelot,  for 
And   that  I  pSps,"like  him^f??"'^  '•"  '^^  ^'°™.- 

Our  m-giest.  hath  this  Quest  avail'd  for 


"  'Our  mightiest  I' 
with  a  groan  • 

°   ^;!]«  ' '.-and 'when 
.  thought  I  spied 

HJ  Kin^  ^'^  °f  "-adness  m  his  eyes  - 

OKmg.myf„end,,ffrie„dof';WneIIje 


answer'd  Lancelot, 
he   paused,  me- 


Arthur  on  the  daU-throne. 
Wd    gone   out   upon  tha 

and  but  a  tithe- of  them. 
»d  not,   stood  before  the 

*  me,  rose,  and  bade  me 

,in  thine  eve  reproves 
sastrous  chance  for  thee 
'sea,  or  flooding  ford 
ue  havoc  here  ofJate" 
devices  ofoiirkines  • 
ver  stronger  hallo)  ours, 
-  Merlin  moulded  for  us 
"Iden  wing  ;  but  now  - 

fiou  seen  the  Holv  Cun 
tofoldtoGlastonO! 

im  all  thyself  hast  heard, 
fresh  but  fixt  resolve 
le  quiet  life. 

.  sharply  turning,  ask'd 
was  this  Questforthee?' 

IGawain,  'not  for  such 

!d  with  a  saintly  man. 
e.Questwasnotforme 
"ed  of  the  Quest; 
"on  in  a  field. 
>  11 ;  and  then  this  gale 
'  the  tenting-pin, 
naidens  all  about 
►-ea,  and  but  for  this. 
»  day  were  pleasant  to 

rthurturn'dtowhom 

s.  on  entering,  push'd 
Lancelot,  caught  his 

lidden  by  him,  stood, 
um,  saying  to  him, 
'Al  man  and  true 
seen  the  Grail ' ;  and 

not  speak  of  it, 
werem  his  eyes  — 

d  but  Lancelot,  for 

Is  in  the  storm  ; 
la  m  Holy  Writ, 
until  the  last. 
•t,'  ask'd  the  King. 

Quest  avail'd  for 

nswer'd  Lancelot, 

he  paused,  me- 

his  eyes,  — 
ndofthinelljc 


liappier  are  those  that  welter  !n  ♦!,.•     • 
hwiiic  11,  iiie  ,„„H  ,1,1  ""•"">"  their  sin, 
•Slitna  of  the  d  tch      b'    ;  """  f"  ^°'  '^'in'e. 
■So  strange.  „f  s.^ch"  -,  k      '  T  ''^"'^  ■■>  *'" 
.Noble,  and  h  nXv  in  n','!'/''*'  !i"  "'"l'"^*^- 

Round  that  oi^e  2,  "uWTClhnf  "'""« 
flower  ^  wholesome 

'I'o  one  most  holy  SI  in;    ";^"  '  "^'=»  '  spake 
That  save  they  could  be  nV'V'JP'  ^"^'  ^^id. 
Myquestwere  hi^    „  •'s.P'uck'd  asunder,  al 
Iha?  I  wouh'wo  L^;,^'";  '°^^"'"  I  vo'w'd 
And  forth  I  went  and°  h'^^'^"       '''"''^• 
strove         '    ^  "^'"'^  '  ywni'd  and 

MVm/dLt'ratrf--'''"^'^1-'. 
And  whipt  me  into  w^as^eT.M   °/°^^' 
1  here  was  I  bea  en^        u '1?  '•^''  away  ; 

Mean  knights  to  w^"".^^  "'"*  '^="' 

swo^rd   '       *'"""  "^«  "'oving  of  my 
And  shadow  of  mv  <inp=.,  »,,j  u 
Jo  scare  them  from'^ll  ^^^  ''"n  ^now 
came  ""^  ""*  °"« ■•  and  then  I 

Wide  ^j/°"i: '°  ">«  naked  shore 

W.de  flats.  wU  nothing  but'c°^Le  grasses 

K^^rSHils^^S^ea 
•^wept  ike  a  riv.,      'j    ."  "'1  the  sand 

\Ver^  shaken  with  the  mo'li  ''°"^^f  ''^^^ens 

And  blackenil^^   n  fhe  se^f^"'*  ">"  =°""d. 

boat,       ^  '  sea-foam  sway'd  a 

Seven  days  I  dr 'vl  ??""S,'nto  the  boat. 

And  with  me  drove  the^l'  ^''"'5'  ''"P- 
stars ;  *  ""^  '"°°n  and  all  the 

I  heard^h1"shia^"^  7  ">?  ^«-"«h  night 
Andfelt  heboatte'"'''"^  '"  '^e  surge,^ 
Behold,  t?reS,S  ri':^  '^f-'g  V. 
Whh  ch^sm^?kr''  "P,°"  a  -ck      "'°"^'' 

Andsfei^L^^^h^Teak^f/'ltr-^. 

none  oreaKer  J  thire  was 

fe:pTt.;iStrV'°vv«''--'^e 

Then  fro^r^  l^e  ffi  feapt  t?°"" ."^^  '■""■ 
There  drew  my  sword  fe«  "fV'^.J'airs. 
„.       manes  ""'th  sudden-flaring 

rhose^wo  great  beasts  rose  upright  like  a! 

S^T?nS^^t&^^a^  '^'='7-  ••  ! 
« n     '  ^°'<=e.  smitten  them,  heard 

'^"te«''^°"'-''^'f"'ou  doubt,  the 


r//J-    noLV  GJiA/L. 


Set'ol^"wrd'aS';;'.!;*"^''''-"'-ce 
and  fell.  "  ^  *'°"'  o"t  "'y  hand. 

fc'nTtliin'"  lather '■"!  "^"^  ^  P««'  = 
No  bench  "for  tlbl  °   •T"«'  ''^"  '  saw. 
"r  shield  Jrkn  «h   .'  o„'r"/i'«  °"  ""=  *a'l 
•hro-  the  tall  olel  on  ,he^  ^f,'-"""ded  moon 
Hut  always  in  the  nMi»,  k  .^  '■'^'*- 

Clear  as  a  lark   hi<.T.'  '"'"'^  '  ''^ard. 
.A  .weet  voice  siH„°irtV^'  '^  '■^'■''■ 

io.hee.tward..«u';f]-t^Tr;i:^s 

fr^"^"^^«"-''^hK"'^'°^'-^ 
^oft:n^^';-trh""'"-^''^-'d. 

I'  gave,  and  thro'  i  «tn..^^.°  "'^  ^°°'^ '• 
As  from  a  seve„?im     1^""^  ^'a^,  a  heat 

Blasted  and  bur^^idb/'!  '"T"'"'  ^ 
With  such  a  fiercenes^i^  'r"''^''  ="*  '  «as. 
O,  yet  methoughtlsawlhi  h"?")'.  ■"•^^y 
All  pall'd  in  crimson  saJif-       i*'     "''' 
■Great  angels,  awfoTsha^« '  anH  "°""^ 

eyes.  snapes,  and  wings  and 

That  whiclTLaw    but  wh^f?  ^*°™  ^  saw 

Andcover.d;andth'irci\'ilt3rti'.1 

"S°  sneaking,  and  here  ceasing,  Lancelot 

Brmfe"  I'Snot  ^ell '/h'^''-.«f.'^-  "  "ay. 
A  reckless  and  i?reve  "nt !fn'°°J^'^  ^"'^s,  il 
Now  bolden'd  bwh!    -^     "'s'^'  «'as  he, 
Well,  I  will^elte^'tef  hi3  King, 

said,  "'"ng.myliege.'he 

Whe!l'hSe"Sin2ifr\"^-^r' ''f 'hine? 
But  as  for  thine  mv  1°^^'!^  '^"*?'^"=n  field.> 
Thyholy„inand&hal'i'-"^'P"^'^ale, 

Vea.  made  our  miSiS^i-rX-^ 

B'^tTfi'n-icS'id  r"~ 

,  Blessed  are^Bor  .ISot^fud'T'  "?'7"' 
For  these  have  se^n  JI.      i-'    ""  Percivale, 

And^a^nL'^^'^r'^"^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
^na  all  the  sacred  madne-  o<-  tl     i      i 


" '  ^ye?  ~  •"•* "'°"  "^'st.  Lancelot :  nev« 


»J« 


PELLEAS  AND  ETTARRE, 


'J 
I 


It  .. 

i 

•  I 


■ ;  *"B 


Could  all  of  true  and  noble  in  knight  and  man 
I  wine  round  one  sin.  whatever  it  might  be. 
With  such  a  closeness,  but  apart  there  crew. 
Save  that  he  were  the  swine  thou  spakcst  of. 
Some  root  of  knighthood  and  pure  nobleness 
wiiereto  see  thou,  that  it  may  bear  its  flower 


"  '  And  spake   I  not  too  truly,   O    my 
knights  i"  ' 

Was  I  too  dark  a  prophet  when  I  said 
1  o  those  who  went  upon  the  Holy  Ouest 
1  hat  most  of  them  would  follow  waiidcrine 
nres,  " 

Lost  in  the  quagmire?  -  lost  to  me  and  gone, 
A    J  left  me  gazing  at  a  barren  board, 
And  a  lean  Order  —  scarce  return 'd  a  tithe  — 
And  out  of  those  to  whom  the  vision  came 
My  greatest  hardly  will  believe  he  saw  • 
Another  hath  beheld  it  afar  off, 
And  leaving  human  wrongs  to  right  them- 
»,,        selves, 

Lares  but  to  pass  into  the  silent  life. 
And  one  hath  had  the  vision  face  to  face 
And  now  his  chair  desires  him  here  in  vain 
However  they  may  crown  him  otherwhere. ' 

And  some  among  you  held,  that  if  the 
King 

Had  seen  the  sight  he  would  have  sworn  the 

vow  : 
Not  easily  seeing  that  the  King  must  guard 
Ihat  which  he  rules,  and  is  but  as  the  hind, 
lo  whom  a  space  of  land  is  given  to  plough 
Who  may  not  wander  from  the  allolled  field 
Before  his  work  be  done  ;  but,  being  done. 
Let  visions  of  the  night  or  of  the  day 
Lome,  as  they  will ;  and  many  a  time  thev 
come,  -^ 

Until  this  earth  he  walks  on  seems  not  earth 
1  his  light  that  strikes  his  eyeball  is  notlieht 
This  air  that  smites  his  forehead  is  not  air 
But  vision  —  yea,  his  very  hands  and  feet  — 
in  moments  when  he  feels  he  cannot  die. 
And  knows  himself  no  vision  to  himself. 
Nor  the  high  God  a  vision,  nor  that  One 
Who  rose  again  :  ye  have  seen  what  ye  have 
seen. 


F  ull  fain  had  Pelleas  for  his  lady  won 
1  he  golden  circlet,  for  himself  the  sword  • 
And  there  were  those  who  knew  him  near 

iiie  King 
And  promised  for  him  :  and  Arthur  made 

him  knight. 


And  this  new  knight,  Sir  Pelleas  of  the 
isics  ~— 
Hut  lately  come  to  his  inheritance. 
And  lord  ol  many  a  barren  isle  was  he- 
kidmg  at  noon,  a  day  or  twain  before, 
Across  the  forest  calPd  of  Dean,  to  find 

r^el'd      °"^     ^'^   '  °"  •"'"  '"='">•  ""'^ 
Almost  to  falling  from  his  horse  ;  but  saw 
Near  hini  a  mound  of  even-sloping  sid^ 
Whereon  a  hundred  stately  beeches  grew 

B  r'.r?  '"f  "',1"=  ereat  hollies  undeMirem. 
B  t  for  a  mile  all  round  was  open  space, 
And  fern  and  heath :  and  slowly  Pelleas  drew 
Jo  that  dim  day  then  binding  f,is  go"  h,  '  e 
lo  a  tree,  cast  himselldown  ;  and  as  1  r  lav 
Thro"'.tT  '"""^i-'K  "ver.he  brown  ear.h  "' 
ihro    that  green-glooming  twilight  of  the 

lltZ"'^  '?'  ?^"^^-'  '''="  •'"=  fe™  without 
Burnt  as  a  living  fire  of  emeralds, 

So  that  his  eyes  were  dazzled  looking  at  it 

Ihen  o  er  it  crost  the  dimness  of  a  cloud  ' 

J  oating,  and  once  the  shadow  of  a  bird 

Hymg,  and  (hen  a  fawn  ;  and  his  eye.  closed 

And  since  he  oved  all  maidens,  bin  no  maid 

In  special,  half  awakehewhisper'd,  "  Whe?e' 

O  where ."    I  love  thee,  tho'  I  kno^  thee  not' 

For  fair  thou  art  and  pure  as  Guinevere 

swold""  '"  "'"^  "^y  ^P"r  and 

As  famous  —  O  my  queen,  my  Guinevere 
For  I  will  be  thine  Arthur  when  we  r^eet>' 


"So  spake  the  king:  I  knew  not  all  he 
meant." 


PELLEAS  AND   ETTARRE. 

King  Arthur  made  new  knights  to  fill  the 
_  S^P 

In  hJ?r  'i^'iP^'y  9""'  =  ="^  »s  he  sat 
In  hall  at  old  Caerleon,  the  hit^h  doors 

Were  softly  sunder'd,  and  thro'  those  a  vouth. 

P«l    ''^^"Jk  "'*  *r?^'  ^•"^•'  of'he  fields 
rast,  and  the  sunshine  came  along  with  him. 

"'^I^fj^sjhy  knight,  because  I  know, 

Wi'.''^'  beings  to  knighthood,  and  I  love," 

Had  let  nr^^"^  •  ^"  *'^^'"K  ''"'■d  «h«  King 
wad  let  proclaim  a  tournament  —  the  Dri7e 


Suddenly  waken'd  with  a  sound  of  talk 
And  laughter  at  the  limit  of  the  wood. 
And  glancing  thro'  the  hoary  boles,  he  saw, 

seem'd  *""'*  °^^  ^'°^^^^  '"'^'"  ''*''^ 
A  vision  hovering  on  a  sea  of  fire, 
Damsels  in  divers  colors  like  the  cloud 
Ot  sunset  and  sunrise,  and  all  of  them 
On  horses  and  the  horses  richly  trapt 
Breast-high  m  that  bright  line  of  bracken 

Stood  r 
And  all  the  damsels  talk'd  confusedly 
And  one  was  pointing  this  way,  and  one  that 
Because  the  way  was  lost.  ' 

A„ji        jf  t  And  Pelleas  rose, 

Thf    T^  u  " ''°''«'  ""^  '^d  him  to  the  light 
^''"e^he  that  seem'd  the  chief  among  tlTen. 

"In  happy  time  behold  our  pilot-star  ! 

Vouth,  we  are  damsels-errant,  and  wc  ride 
The-  ,?r^^  T'  *V>"  against  the  knights' 

1  here  at  Caerleon,  but  have  lost  our  wtv  : 
lo  right?   to  left?  straight  forward?  back 

again  ? 
WhiVb  ?  fell  us  ouicklv." 


as  for  his  lady  won 
for  himself  the  sword: 
ose  who  knew  him  near 

him  ;  and  Arthur  made 

•ght,  Sir  Pelleas  of  the 

lis  inheritance, 
barren  isle  was  he  — 
ly  or  twain  before, 
I'd  of  Dean,  to  find 
lip,  had  felt  the  sun 
night  on  his  helm,  and 

m  his  horse  ;  but  saw 
if  even-sloping  side, 
stalely  beeches  grew, 
reat  hollies  under  them, 
ind  was  open  space, 
and  slowly  Pelleas  drew 
I  binding  his  good  lioise 
If  down  ;  and  as  lip  lay 
ver  the  brown  earlli 
oming   twilight  of  the 

hat  the  fern  without 
of  emeralds, 
dazzled  looking  at  it. 
dimness  of  a  cloud 
e  shadow  of  a  bird 
n  ;  and  his  eye,-,  clof^ed. 
I  maidens,  but  no  maid 
lewhisper'd,  "Where? 
\  tho'  I  know  thee  not. 
lure  as  Guinevere, 
e  with  my  spear  and 

een,  my  Guinevere, 
Ihur  when  we  meet." 

■ith  a  sound  cf  talk 
nit  of  the  wood, 
!  hoary  boles,  he  saw, 
i  prophet  might  have 

sea  of  fire, 
rs  like  the  cloud 
and  all  of  them 
ses  richly  trapt 
ight  line  of  bracken 

k'd  confusedly, 

lis  way,  and  one  that, 

St. 

Antj  Pelleas  rose, 
died  him  to  the  light, 
le  chief  among  them 


our  pilot-star  1 
irrant,  nnii  we  ride, 
Jgainst  the  knights 
lave  lost  our  way  ; 
ight  forward?  back 


I 


"  r.  Guinevere  ^"rlfftl'efuSul  /^.''"«'''' 
'^"  'bro^  ^'°'"  'y" '-Sand  her 
A  rosy  dawn  kindled  in  stainless  heavon. 

And  but  for  those  large  eyes,  the  haunts  of 

She  might  have  seem'd  a  toy  to  tnfle  with 
Ani  pass  and  care  no  more.'   BuTS^, 

AllThi  V^  "T"'  "°  '^'"^  Pelleas  lend 

S.amn;pd':;n•d?o'uldStkTh^^^rre';^ 
Where  savin.' h^''^"^  '''^'■"^'  "^'^  he  come''' 

Makers  ofnets,  and  living  from  the  sea. 


PELLEAS  AND  ETTARRE. 


•59 
&l?w"s'a^Stlad7""'^"'='°"*'°''-- 

Sfe  "h'^  'li^yp- '0 'oti-Sr^si,;^""''' 

1akmgJ.,ha.id,  "  O  thestr.^Jig^.'aJ.'-she 

"  See  Mook  at  mine  I  but  wilt  thou  fight  for 

And  win  me  this  fine  circlet   PpIIp,. 
I  hat  I  may  love  thee  ?  ••      '        ^*'' 


^'"?outd''  '  "'"^  ''""''  '"^"'d  'he  lady 

A"sfot°ii''fl"P°"-  '"='■  Pe^P'e :  and  as  when 
A  stone   s  flung  into  some  sleeping  tarn 

.Go  l,k„„,. ;  .hall ,  |„j  j,„'»  i^^  Ij.^^ , ,. 

"Lead  then,"  she  said;  .ind  ihr«'  ,k. 
wood,  they  »ent.  "  """    "" 

She  mutter'd    "?h°  •^'f'  r'^J"  ^^'  ''"^ 
Rawryeso  stale  l^?h  hghted  on  a  fool. 

bent  "'  *'""  ''er  mind  was 


'■^^ath^'"  '•"'''•'='"*-"•''•  -d  she 
And  st^iHy  nipt  the  hand,  and  flung  it  from 
Then  glanced  askewat  those  three  knights  of 

Till  all  her' ladies  laugh'd  along  with  her. 

"^I'tPPy^^^rW."  thought  Pelleas,  "all 
meseems,  '     ""> 

Are  happy  ;  I  the  happiest  of  them  all  •• 

Nor  slept  that  night  for  pleasure  in  his  blonti 

And  ^-en^wool-ways^and  e^'erinttlS 

l^'-^^iH^rs^Sir^c"' 
la^^te:?a^^r^-^°'^ 

Kindled  by  fire  from  heaven  :  so  gfad  was  he. 

Then  Arthur  made   vast  banquets    and 
_        strange  knights  "••"queis,  and 

From  the  four  winds  came  in  :  and  each  one 

!'°.'sS.a'^i^'"'^-^-'-d. 
H  sner?'l^"''"l'  measuring  with  his  eyes 

Noble  among  the  noble,  for  he  dreamM 

k/igh'  "*^  '■  ^"'^ '"'"  *"■«  »e*-n.ade 
Worshipt,  whose  lightest  whispermovedhim 
Than  all  the  ranged  reasons  of  the  world. 


AnSr^^Q^^-^.^^^ll-name 
That  peradventure  he  will  fieht  fnr  m» 


Then^bbsh'd  and  brake  the  morning  of  the 

"^"^  '  Yomh'"""''*  "  '^^^  Tournament  of 
For  Arthur.  loWng  his  young  knight,  with- 
His  older  and  his  m.'cKf.-^-  c.^-  ,v    ,.  . 

Accn'  ?-'""^  T^  obtai;  hisTadJ-ste 
Lord  o(f",r°.'"=''  P^'""'^^,  and  remaii^      ' 
°oistV°""'^-     And  Arthur  had  the 

Hord"e:!"  \t ".ildld'^  ""'  '^'  '''°''  °f  Usk 
With  faces  afJl^*^  parapets  were  crown'd 
w  itn  face.s,and  the  ereat  tower  fill'd  with  ev^s 


i    ' 

1  ■ 


i!i 


!'■ 


iij. 


te.'l'n  ^"'",""'''  "'^•^  ">•  l"'mpets  blew 
1  he  sword  and  goldei.  circlet  were  achieved. 


PELLEAS  AND  ETTARRE. 


the 


P( ''•,';'«  »"dKlory  nred  her  face  ;  her  eye 
Sparkled;^  she  caught  the  circkt  frum'his 

ao  tor  tlie  last  time  she  was  gracious  to  him. 

nX'iwr''"  ^»"'e"n  '»«•  «  space-  her  look 
Se  -71?    ."""='■''•  ^'""^ieron  herkmX- 
i-iML'er  d  littarre  :  and  seeing  J'elleasthoon 
Saul  Omnevere.  "  We  marvel  at  thee     uT 

0  damsel   wearing  this  unsunny  face     '"''"' 

1  ohm.  who  won  thee  glory  !  "  a„cl  she  siiH 

As  one  whose  foot  is  bitten  by  an  ant 

ter';;:;."^""  '''=^- '"-'d  -"d  wen, 


^KS:;^:^-t!iarJj=^ 

I  cannot  bide  Sir  Babv.     Keep  him  back 
Among^yourselvcs.     <Vould  ra^tir that  we 

Some  rough  old  knight  who  knew  the  worldly 

Albeit  grizzlier  than  a  bear,  to  ride 
And  jest  with    take  him  to  you,  keen  him  off 
And  pamper  him  with  papmea  ,  if  L^n    ' 
f^cr^.f'^  of  theUlf  and  sh^epr    ' 
boys!    "''^°'««°"'e  •"'Others  tell' their 

Nay  should  ye  try  him  with  a  merry  one 
To  find  his  mettle,  good  :  and  if  he  fly  us 
Small  matter  I  lethl^."    This  heVlfamsel, 

And  mindful  of  her  small  and  cruel  hand 
Ihey,  cWg  round  him  thro'  the  jouLy 

RestfainM ']'•"'  '"I  ^'A^'^'y^  fr"™  her  side 
So?h./K  ^  ''im  with  all  manner  of  device 
AnH      ^  ^u"'''  •?"'  '^""e  '"  speech  whh  her 
And  when  she  gam'd  her  castle',  upsp'ang  the 


(  Full-arm'd  upon  his  charcn.!-  ,ii  j      i 
|«atbythewa^s.an'5Xre7^„^te[^^ 

'^"''wSh '""""""  *"■■"'''  her  .con.  t„ 
'''"",ei,:«.^5Vt''.^'=<=  ■'"'«•''«.  "he  charged 
And  drive  him  from  the  walls."  And  out  they 

"''Ssrer^'"""°'''-"— •^c- 

''°*"s'tro'K"""'P"""^ ''«'-- your 

"""'MeVit!""""^*^^--"    A^'^'Jown 
And  Pelleas  overthrew  fJi«rv.  ^».  u 

Bind  him,  and  bring  him  in."        ^"••"»=> 

Thenlet  the  strong  han"d!a&r.: 

Her  minion-knights,  by  those  he  overthrew 
Be  bounden  straight,  and  so  the/ blu^llt 

Then  when  he  came  before  Ettarre,  the 
Of  her  rich  beauty  made  him  at  one  elance 
S  whh"l''"/"J" '"^'^^■■'^''han  in  his^bo.^  d^ 

A  prisoner,  and  the  vassal  of  thv  will  • 
And  If  thou  keep  me  in  thy  donjon  here 
Content  am  I  so  that  I  see  thy  face 
And°tho'  1^7  =•  '■°'  J  have  sw'orn  my  vow. 
That  an\'hjlfi«"^""  thy  promise,  and^I  know 
A   J  .1   'hese  pains  are  tria  s  of  mv  faith 

strLin-r"'  "''^"  *''°"  hasT'sIefmc 
And  sifted  to  the  utmost,  wilt  at  leneth 

k"nigh^'°^'*^"^''''°-"'«<^'   'I'y 


„  "^'iho'iiht,"'"  ""y*  °^  ^'''""•"  ^«"«=as 
y^°  te  *'''°  '°^^  'hem,  trials  of  our  faith 

For'loval  , '  fhT\'"^  '"  '^^  uttermost, 
ror  loyal  to  the  uttermost  am  I  " 

"iougt "'"""' ^"''•^^^'^""^f^i-g. 

A  pnory  not  far  off,  the:  ;  lodged,  but  rose 
With  morninH every  day,  and  moist  or  dr? 


«r?^,h'^'^,^he  Ijegan  to  rail  so  bitterly 

With  all  her  damsels,  he  was  stricken  mute  ■ 

But  when  she  mock'd  his  vows  and  the  grcai 

Lighted  on  words  :  "  For  pity  of  thine  own 

^"'''mS'^'  ''^''"     '*  ^^  ""'  'hine  and 

^''°vo?c°e''"  '''^''"''^'  "^"«^"  heard  hk 

And'Z^iff'h-'''"''  ''^^.y-  Unbind  him  now, 
And  thrust  him  out  of  doors  :  for  save  h"  ho 
Pou!  to  the  midmost  marrow  of  his  bone-  ' 
He  will  mum  no  more."     And  'hose  jicr 

Laugh'd.and  unbound,  and  thrust  him  from 
lit  gate. 


Ill's  charper  all  day  lonr 
and  no  one  open'd  to  hi'm. 

itcnce  turn'd  her  .co,,,  t., 

three  knights,  she  cliarge.l 

m  the  walls."  And  out  they 

irew  them  as  they  dnshM 
•y  one;  and  these  relurii'd 
lis  watch  beneath  the  wai:. 

hbecanjeahatcMndonc,., 
■hi  e  walknig  on  the  wall, 
lights,  she  pomted  down 

I    cannot    breathe  — be 

'  I  put  my  hate  into  your 

n  my  walls."    And  down 

rew  them  one  by  one  • 
■above hini cried  Ettarre 
"nghimin."  ' 

He  heard  her  voice  • 
[  hand,  which  had  over- 

,  by  those  he  overthrew 
It,  and  so  they  brouglit 

ime  before  Ettarre,  the 

yiade  him  at  one  glance 
isheartthaninhisboiids 
he  spake,  "  Behold  mei 

vassal  of  thy  will ; 
in  thy  donjon  here, 
t  I  see  thy  face 
I  have  sworn  my  vow! 
hypromise,andIknou' 
ire  trials  of  my  faith, 
en  thou  hast  seen  nic 

ost,  wilt  at  length 
md  know  me  for  thy 

rail  so  bitterly, 

he  was  stricken  mute; 

his  vows  and  the  great 

For  pity  of  thine  own 

is  he  not  thine  and 

I,  "  I  never  heard  his 

»y.    Unbind  him  now, 
doors  :  for  save  he  '^e 
arrow  of  his  bones 
re."    And  those,  her 

and  thrust  him  ironi 


PELLEAS  AND  ETTARRE. 


ci,'^"^i?.'i*V'''*'  *  ^«*''  beyond,  again 
She  call'd  them,  saymg,  "  f  here  he  watches 


yet. 

There  like  a  dog  before  his  master's  door  I 

Kick  d,  he  returns  :  do  ve  not  hate  him,  ye  ? 

Ye  know  yourselves:  how  can  ye  bide  at 
peace, 

Aflfi-onted  with  his  fulsome  innocence  ? 
Are  ye  but  creatures  of  the  board  and  bed 

No  men  to.  strike  ?  fall  on  him  all  at  once." 
And  If  ye  slay  him  f  reck  not :  if  ye  fail 
Oive  ye  the  slave  mine  order  to  be  bound 
Bind  him  as  heretofore,  and  bring  him  in  '■ 
It  may  be  ye  shall  slay  him  in  his  bonds."' 

She  spake ;  and  at  her  will  they  couch'd 
their  spears. 
Three  against  one  :  and  Gawain  passing  by, 
Bound  upon  solitary  .idventure,  saw 
Low  down  beneath  the  shadow    of   those 

towers 
A  villany,  three  to  one  :  and  thro'  his  heart 
Jhe  hre  of  honor  and  all  noble  deeds 

fide-    ""'"' "  ^  ^'"''°  "p°"  *''y 

^''^  ""fhSar"  "  ^''^•"  ^^'^  ^^"^'''  "^'" 
He  needs  no  aid  who  doth  his  lady's  will." 


IX ay,  let  nim  go  —  and 

knights 
Laugh'd  not,  but  thrust 

door. 


quickly."    And  her 
bounden  out  of 


So  Gawain,  bokmg  at  the  villany  done. 
Forebore  but  m  his  fieat  and  eagerness 
Irembled  and  quiver'd,  as  the  dog,  withheld 
A  moment  frotn  the  vermin  that  Ke  sees 
Helore  him,  shivers,  ere  he  springs  and  kills. 

And  Pelleas  overthrew  them,  one  to  three  • 

hlmln*^  "^'  *"''  ''°""'''  ^""^  '"■°"^^' 

K'nM"on'hi''r  ^T""'-  '^^^'"8  P«""5'  turn'd 
t  ull  on  her  knights  m  many  an  evil  name 

hound'    *^^''''"S'    and    thrice-beaten 

"Yet,  take  him.  ye  that  scarce  are  fit  to  touch 

out  y""""  victor,  and  thrust  him 

And  let  who  will  release  him  from  his  bonds. 
And  if^he^comes  again  "-there  she  brake 

And  Pelleas  answer'd,  "  Lady,  for  indeed 
loved  you  and  I  deem'd  you  beautiful, 
cannot  brook  to  see  your  beauty  marr'd 

1  hro  evil  spite  :  and  If  ye  love  r^e  no^ 
"""ot  bear  to  dream  you  so  forsworn  : 

Thin  tn  hfV^  !5["'=  '^"'■'I'y  "'■"y  'ove. 

A  d  thn-  V.  r,?*^  ^S?:'"  "'^y""  -  ftrewdl  ; 
And  tho  ye  kill  my  hope,  not  yet  my  love 
Vex  not  yourself:  ye  will  not  see  me  more.'" 

^'^  man  "*  ^^  ^^*''**  *''*  ^'"^  "P°"  ">« 

Of  princely  bearing,  the'  in  bonds,    and 
thought 

"  "^^^^^l^  ^  P"«'^''J  him  from  me  ?  this  man 
If  love  there  be :  yet  him  I  loved  not.  Why  > 
i;"J?'J:*"'"  f°°'?  .yea.,so?  or  that  in  him 


^°"hi!'bm"-^  Gawain,  and  loosed  him  from 

And  flung  thtin  o'er  the  walls;  ami  ..iterward 

ShakingTiis  hands  as  from  a  lazar's  rag  "'^ 

taith  of  my  body,"  he  said,    "  anS  art 

thou  not  — 

Knti!\°"A"  '"^'.^hom  late  our  Arthur  mado 

Thl'^  •  1?,"  '1:''''=;  y^a  ""^i  ^e  that  wo,, 

Thv  iT  f ' '  ^'^j^.^'^fe  hast  thou  so  defamed 
]hv  brotherhood  in  me  and  all  the  rest. 
As  let  these  caitiffs  on  thee  work  their  will  ?" 

'^"'^^P^^'eas  answer'd,  "O,  their  wills  are 

Thl;  ^^""^  l*°"  'f'e  circlet :  and  mine,  hers, 
1  hus  to  be  bounden.  so  to  see  her  lace. 
Marr  d  tho'  it  be  with  spite  and   mockery 
now.  ■' 

Other  than  when  I  found  her  in  the  woods  ; 

An^  ln°.  'fl^  ''^"'  "ne  bounden  but  in  spite. 
And  i,ll  to  flout  me,  when  they  bring  me  in 
Let  me  be  bounden,  I  shall  see  her  face  • 
iilse  must  I  die  thro'  mine  unhappiness." 

■'  WhtS^r*'"  ?"?wf':'d  kindly  tho' in  .scorn, 

Why,  let  my  lady  bind  me  if  she  will. 
And  let  my  lady  beat  me  if  she  will  • 
But  an  she  send  her  delegate  to  thrall 
ihese  fighting  hands  of  mine —Christ  kill 
me  then 

AnJi  ij'"  '','''!  ''''"  landless  by  the  wrist, 
And   et  my  lady  sear  the  stump  for  him, 
Howl  as  he  may.  But  hold  me  for  your  friend- 
<-ome,  ye  know  nothing  :  here  I  pledge  mv 
troth,  ' 

Yea,  by  the  honor  of  the  Table  Round. 
1  will  be  leal  to  Uiee  and  work  thy  work 
And  tame  thy  jailing  princess  to  thine  hand 

Th!!r  rT  '^'"^  '•°''^;^  ^"'^  arms,  and  I  will  say 
1  hat  I  have  slain  thee.     She  will  let  me  in 
lo  hear  the  manner  of  thy  fight  and  fall ; 
ihen,  when  I  come  within  her  counsels,  then 
*  rom  prime  to  vespers  will  I  chant  thy  praise 
As  prowest  knight  and  truest  lover,  mire 

To  hl^-^.i,  ^"^^"."^  "J^*  ''v'"K-  '•"  she  long 
I  o  have  thee  back  in  lusty  life  again, 

Wot  to  be  bound,  save  by  white  bonds  and 

warm. 
Dearer  than  fi-eedom.    Wherefore  now  thv 

horse  •' 

And  armor  :  let  me  go  :  be  comforted  ; 
Oive  me  three  days  to  melt  her  fancy,  and 


Then  Pelleas  lent  his  horse  and  all  his  arms, 
baving   he  goodly  sword,  his  prize,  and  took 

.  ..- "^■.  .......  u.  u.a.mnim|  ^"""'hetl"''  ^""^'    "^^'"y  ""=  "»'.  but 

Serm"?Jt?e7rSttS'SSir"  '"'Z^f^  '^  ^'^^  -"  -^  H.^t-o. 


ate 


»r.." 


ft 


Then  bounded  forward  to  the  castle  walls 
And  raised  a  bugle  hanging  from  118^ 
;^"'',^!"ded  a  and  thafso  musically  "' 
Ihat  all  the  old  echoes  hidden  in  tl  e  wall 
Rang  out  like  hollow  woods  at  huntfnSde. 

Up  ran  a  score  of  damsels  to  the  tower  • 
Avaunt.;;  they  cried.  "  our  lady  loves  thee 

But  Gawai..  lifting  up  his  visor  said,  I 

Gawam  am  I,  (fawain  of  Arthur's  court, 

Behold  his  horse  and  armor.    Ooen  cate 
And  I  will  make  you  aierry."  ^     ^     ' 

Her  damsels,  crying  to  th^i^'la'dT-te  ''''' 
hUT  "  ''""/  -  '''=  '°^^  "^.  he  that  hath 

He  steim  I  r'"°''-=  *.i"  y«.'«'-  him  in? 
Me  Slew  him  !  Gawain,  Gawain  of  the  court 
Sir  Gawam  -  there  he  waits  below  the  wal  ' 
Blowinghisbugleaswhoshouldsayhimnay" 


PEL  LEAS  AND  ETTARRE. 


s, 
6 


^"'^door'*^''*  ^'^*"'  '"■^'S'"  "^  "»^°'  °Pen 

"Dea?^sils^'?"T'''^^>'?^'«'i«=°""""sly. 
Uead,^i3  It  so  >    she  ask'd.  "  Ay,  ay."  said 

"' P?tt°l'"v '''"«  T*"*  "P°"  y°"'  name." 
knFghn™*  '*"'*"''''    "^  ^""'^ 

"  Av""7hJ";:".'^''^*  one  hour  at  peace." 
eno    •       ^'**'"'      -Jnd  ye  be  fair 

ThI/ih  ^°"'  '^i"''  J!"^?  ."^^^^  2'ven  my  troth, 

r  n^=?  •''°*V'";f®''^y?'  aimless  about  the  land. 
Lost  in  a  doubt,  Pelleas  wandering  ' 

Wfth'nrn"'''  "^V^"'^  ",'?'>'  brought  amooD, 
With  promise  of  large  ligtt  on  woods  and 
ways. 

Hard  by  the  gates.  Wide  open  were  the  gates 

"pa^t  ^P''  ^""^  '°  *'''°'  these  h^ 

And  heWbut  his  own  steps,  and  his  own 

Beating,  for  nothing  moved  but  liis  own  self 
Andhisown  shado,^.  Then  he crost  tKurt. 
And  saw  the  postern  portal  also  wide 
dawning ;  and  up  a  slope  of  garden,  all 
Of  roses  white  and  red,  and  w^ld  ones  mixt 
And  overgrowing  them,  went  on,  and  found. 

I!:l?i°°;  ^"  ^""^f  helow  the  mellow  moon 
j;^vc  .hat  one  rivulet  from  a  tiny  cave 

Am^n;'?K'^"'"«  downward,  and  so  spilt  itself 
Among  the  roses,  and  was  lost  again 

TS.^frrm'»h*r''l*''*'^I?'*«P^^"-onsrose. 
Aiire«  from  the  bushes,  gilden-peakt :  in  one, 


Red  after  revel,  droned  her  Jurdan  kniehfs 

"'teee^'f  *'"'  '''"  squires"'fcross 
In  one,  their  ma'lice  on  the  placid  lip 
And  in  ^L'^K^i'^^P-  '^""fofher  damsels  lay  : 
Rn,,  I?      u  ^^\1^'  'he  circlet  of  the  jousts 
Bound  on  herbrow.  were  G;«wain  and  Ettarre. 

'v^T\'  ^  *  hand  that  pushes  thro'  the  leaf 
To  find  a  nest  and  feels  a  snake,  he  drew^ 
Back,  as  a  coward  slinks  from  What  he  fears 

Bea'en'"di:!l"j5Ml''  "  '^""°'-  P'°^"'  °^  hoimd 
Beaten,  dd  Pelleas  in  an  utter  shame 

Creep  with  his  shadow  thro'  the  court  P^in 
lhefe"o"nM!  '"'  T'u^-.h«"'"«  ""til  he  slood 
.  thSught,"''"'^'  ""'"^  '"°''''  ^■"' 

"  ^  *'iie*''°  ''^*^^'  ""^  "'^^  *''""  *here  they 


^"''sleer"'  '"'^'''  """^  *"'"^  **"""  ^^' '" 
Said,  "Ye,  that  so  dishallow  the  holv  sleen 
f  ^P.'s  death,"  and  drew^hTsS,' 
and  thougnt, 

'''^XhbUd'"P'"«'"'s''*^*heKing 

And  sworn  me  to  this  brotherhood  " ;  again 
T^if /''^'.r^''5  ''"■Shtshouldbe  so  fafse."'- 
Then  tuni'd,  and  so  return'd,  and  groaning 

xte^ft'^f  *°''.?  I'hwart  theirnaked  throats, 
1  here  left  it,  and  them  sleeping  ;  and  she  lav 

And  T.'"  °'^'i"  Vr^y  "'""•i  her  bmws,^' 
throaT°  *°"™*^  '"°*'  her 

'^"'^ho°rs?  ''^  ''^*'  ^""^  mounting  on  his 
^**"''selves''  *"*""  "''"'  ''"■^"  "'^"  'hem- 
^"  ^rn'ooT**  darkness,  throng'd  into  the 

^''"'  cS'f '  ''*''^'*  *'"'  •"■'  'highs,  and 

His  hands,  and  madden'd  with  himself  and 
moan'd : 

'■^Sb&d'''''"^''"^^'"''' •"*''" 

Flln^il^?'  ^\^  I  ??'Sht  have  answer'd  the.n 
So  t^l,vf '^'^  li^hJJod.  O  towers  so  strong" 
So  solid,  would  that  even  while  I  gaze 

"^baw       ""^"'''*  shiverini  to  your 

BelloX^";""'^;?'''"  •'HI?'  "P  y°"^  harlot  roofs 
bellowing  and  c.arr'd  you  thro'  and  thro' 
within, 

'""'skuin"  ''"'"''^  l»eart- hollow  as  a 

Let  the  fierce  east  scream  thro'  your  eyelet- 
noles,  ' 

And  whirl  the  dust  of  harlots  round  and 

round 
In  dung  and  nettles!  hiss,  snake-  I  saw 

nim  there  — 
Let  the  fox  bark,  let  the  wolf  yell.  Who  ve'ls 
Here  in  the  still  sweet  summer  night,  but  I  - 


ed  her  lurdan  knights 
ir  three  squires  across 

n  the  placid  lip 
fpurofher  damsels  lav- 
circlet  of  the  jousts 
re  Gawain  and  Ettarre. 

It  pushes  thro'  the  leaf 
Is  a  snake,  he  drew  : 
iks  from  what  he  fears 
itor  proven,  or  hound 
an  utter  shame 
'  thro'  the  court  ??ain, 
-handle  until  he  stood 
ridge  once  more,  and 

ilay  them  where  they 

Qd  seeing  them  yet  in 

lallow  the  holy  sleep, 
and  drew  the  sword, 

ig  knight?  the  King 

rotherhood  " ;  again, 
t  should  be  so  false." 
urn'd,  and  groaning 

t  theirnaked  throats, 
eeping  ;  and  she  lay, 
iy  round  her  brows, 
tourney  across  her 

id  mounting  on  his 
t,  larger  than  them- 
throng'd  into  the 
vith  his  thighs,  and 
d  with  himself  and 

sen  against  me  in 

lave  answer'd  them 
O  towers  so  strong, 
while  I  gaze 
shivering  to  your 

p  your  harlot  roofs 
)u  thro'  and  thro' 

art — hollow  as  a 

thro'  your  eyelet- 

arlots  round  and 

i,  snake  —  I  saw 

fyell.  Who  yells 
>er  night,  but  I  — 


PMLLEAS  AND  MTTaRRE. 


1,  the  poor  Pelleas  whom  she  call'd  her 

fool? 
Fool,  beast— he,  she,  or  I?  my>Bif  most 

fool ; 
Beast  too,  as  lacking  human  wit  —  disgraced, 
Dishonor'd  all  for  trial  of  true  love  — 
Love?—  we  be  all  alike :  only  the  king 
Hath  made  us  fools  and  liars.  O  noble  vows  1 

0  great  and  sane  and  simple  race  of  brutes 

1  hat  own  no  lust  because  they  have  no  law  I 
For  why  should  I  havfe  loved  her  to  my 

shame  ? 
I  loathe  her,  as  I  loved  her  to  my  shame. 
I  never  loved  her,  I  but  lusted  for  her  — 
Away —  " 

...     He  dash'd  the  rowel  into  his  horse. 
And  bounded  forth  and  vanish'd  thro'  the 
night. 

Then  she,  that  felt  the  cold  touch  on  her 
throat, 
\waking  knew  the  sword,  and  tum'd  her  -': 
io  Gawain  :  "  Liar,  for  thou  hast  not  slain 
his  Pelleas  '  here  he  stood  and  might  have 
slain 
Me  and  thyself.'     And  he  that  tells  the  tale 
jays  that  her  ever-veering  fancy  turn'd 
To  Pelleas,  as  the  one  true  knight  on  earth. 
And  only  lover  :  and  thro'  her  love  her  life 
Wasted  and  pined,  desiring  him  in  vain 

But  he  by  wild  and  way,  for  half  the  night. 
And  ove.-  hard  and  soft,  striking  the  sod 
From  out  the  soft,  the  spark  from  off  the  hard, 
Rode  till  the  star  above  the  wakening  sun. 
Beside    that    tower   where    Percivale    was 

cowl'd. 
Glanced  from  the  rosy  forehead  of  the  dawn. 
For  so  the  words  were  flash'd  into  his  heart 
He  knew  not  whence  or  wherefore:   "O 

sweet  star. 
Pure  on  the  virgin  forehead  of  the  dawn." 
And  there  he  would  have  wept,  but  felt  his 

eyes 
Harder  and  drier  than  a  fountain  bed 
In  summer :  thither  came  the  village  girls 
And  inger'd  talking,  and  they  come  no  more 
1  ill  the  sweet  heavens  have  fill'd  it  from  the 

heights 
Again  with  living  waters  in  the  change 
or  seasons:  hard  his  eyes;  harder  his  heart 
beem  d  :  but  so  weary  were  his  limbs,  that  he. 
Gasping,     Of  Arthur's  hall  am  I,  but  here 
K^  ''=!,7?,V?*'^P'^  ^'«'"  cast  himself  down, 
q-^.^  f" ,  °  "'^  S"*>''s  in  inmost  sleep  ;  so  lay, 
lill  shaken  by  a  dream,  that  Gawain  fired 
1  he  hall  of  Merlin,  and  the  morning  star 
Reel  d  in  the  smoke,  brake  into  flame,  and 

fell. 


4^3 


He  woke,  and  being  ware  of  some  onenigh, 

bent  hands  upon  him,  as  to  tear  him,  crying 

f  alse  I  and  I  held  thee  pure  as  Guinevere. " 

•I  ?"*  Percivale  stood  near  him  and  replied, 

Am  I  but  false' as  Guinevere  is  pure  ? 
Or  art  thou  mazed  with  dreams  ?  or  being  one 


Of  our  free-spoken  Table  hast  not  heard 
Ihat  Lancelot  "  —  there  he  clieck'd  himsell 
and  paused. 

xirP*"  '^'■^'^  ''  ^''"^  ^i""  Pelleas  as  with  one 
Who  gets  a  wound  in  battle,  and  the  sword 
1  hat  made  it  plunges  thro'  the  wound  again. 
And  pricks  it  deeper :  and  he  shrank  and 

w.iil'd, 
"  Is  the  Queen  false  ? "  and  Percivale  was 

mute. 
"  Have  any  of  our  Round  Table  held  th-ir 

vows?  " 
And  Percivale  made  answer  not  a  word. 
"Is  the  king  true?"     "The  king!"  said 

Percivaie. 
"Why  then   let  men  couple  at  once  with 

wolves. 
What  I  art  thou  mad?" 

But  Pelleas,  leaping  up, 
Kan  thro  doors  and  vaulted  on  his  horse 
And  fled  x\\  pity  upon  his  horse  had  he. 

Or  on  himself,  or  any,  and  when  he  met 
A  cripple  ;  one  that  held  a  hand  for  alms  — 
Hunch'd  as  he  was,  and  like  an  old  dwarf- 
elm 
That  turns  its  back  on  the  salt  blast,  the  boy 
Paused    not  but  overrode  him,   shouting, 

"  False, 
And  false  with  Gawain  I "  and  so  left  him 

bruised 
And  batter'd,  and  fled    on,  and  hill  and 

wood 
Went  ever  streaming  by  him  till  the  gloom, 
Ihat  tollows  on  the  turning  of  the  world, 
Darken'd  the  common  path  :  he  twitch'd  th  ^ 

reins. 
And  made  his  beast  that  better  knew  it, 

swerve 
Now  off  it  and  now  on  ;  but  when  he  saw 
High  up  in  heaven  the  hall  that  Merlin  built. 
Blackening  against   the  dead-green  striper. 

of  Even, 
"Black  nest  of  rats,"  he  groan'd,  "ye  build 

too  high." 


Not  long  thereafter  from  the  city  gates 
Issued  Sir  Lancelot  riding  airily, 
Warm  with  a  gracious  pr'.rting    from    the 

Queen, 
Peace  at  his  heart,  and  gazing  at  a  star 
And  marvelling  what  it  was  :  on  whom  the 

boy, 
Across  the  silent  seeded  meadow-grass 
Borne,     clash'd :     and    Lancelot,     saying, 

"  What  name  hast  thou 
That  ridest  here  so  blindly  and  so  hard  ?  " 
"  I  have  no  name,"  he  shouted,  "  a  scourg* 

am  I, 

To  lash  the  treasons  of  the  Table  Round." 
"Yea,  but  thy  name?"     "I  have  many 

names,"  he  cried  ; 
"  I  am  wrath  and  shame  and  hate  and  evil 

fame. 
And  like  a  poisofious  wind  I  pass  to  blast 
And  blaze  the  crime  of  Lancelot  and  the 

Queen." 


''I 


y% 


"'i. 


364 


!' 


/"thru?.-"  -■''   La„c.lo,   "Shalt 

/"""^AS'  '''''  '"^  ^^'^^"^'^^ 
Drawback^  a  ,,3ce.  and  when  .hey  closed. 

"Thou  art  fa^e  aste^'slav^'''^■^^  ^ 

no  sword."  ^  ^^^y"*'  I   '>ave 

Then  Lancelot.  "  V«.a  »,»» 
„         and  sharp  ■         '  '"'''''"°  ^^V  ''P*  - 

'R.se.^weakling;  I  am  Lancelot;  say  thy 


r//£:  PASS/.VG  OP  ARTHUR. 


?n°lhA^'':,^i„"---.-"'°'^'''-•voice 

Withwho^heSrS^-tothose^.^^^ 

Th^er^^S'ir;;^  battle  in  the  west 
kill'd  "''"'  sleeping,   Gawain 

KgTwa'ii:;*'';i^S°^'°;Gawai„  blown 
Went  shrillinK  "  ^„7u ''•  ?"n  P^^'  ''i^  ear 
Hail,kinc!  t^lm"°i.°r:'''°lo*'' 


And^Lancelot  slowly  rode  h,s  war-horse 
And  follow-d  to  the  city.     I.  chanced  that 

T£'w'i?h''trtes^°^r."^''^'- 

^        Guinevere       ^  ''  ^"'^  '^^'n^^   was 

Hi.whoh^ritSe;'^K.S'- 

''""f^fSute.'-rd.brea.hing.     -Have 

!';T:'sai^-"'°^-     -Ay.  .y  Queen,. 

.."'^TgSet'JJ'^^"''-"  »•-?■■  "Ay. 
^"kfer"^'°P^"-."0  young 
Hath  t^he  great  heart  of  knighthood  in  thee 

Aftnfcr^'.The'^?;;;;""---'"^'. 

"Or  hast  thou  other  grTe'feT  ^?  f^'n^  ""'' 
May  help  the..  ^.o^..^;.J^^l^^^^ 

She  Sim  "^''1'{P«"..^>'««o  fierce 

'sword."'""'''''"^^'"g"I  have  no 
Sprang^from  the  door  into  the  dark.    The 

And  all  talk  Hf,.Hi^  dolorous  day  to  be  : 

AnrMotetough"v:%r;?  *"«•  \'" 

hand."      ^    '     ^  ^^ '""«  's  hard  at 


I  Hail,  king  !    o-morroLT.;  ''°"owa"  delight  I 
change      ^''^  '"''"   ^'''J   hird,    that 

call'd,  '    '"'  Arthur  woke  and 

"Who^ge?    Adreao,.    O  light  upon  the 

^'■"dScts'^^^''^^  ---are  these 
Th.ne?^or^doth  all  that  haunts  the  waste  and 
Mourn,  knowingit  will  goalongwithme?" 
This^^heard  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  and 

Ei?erand[he'hf ; 'tf ''I  whatever  will, 
,  But  in  their  s1ead?hf^'*'^°"''='"'he  field ; 

A»do„^„„„.:es;.:;,ss,rs,.,„ 

Anse,  go  forth  and  conquer  as  of  old." 


THE  PASSING  OF   ARTHUR 


And  .Im,.,  u.  b..,,„„  f,™  „,.  ^^^^ 


vas  no  morethana  voice 
'ffiis  age,  to  those 

new  faces,  other  minds. 

jrd  battle  in  the  west 
nur  sleeping,   Gawain 

ghost  of  Gawain  blown 
'nd.  and  past  his  ear 

ow  hollow  all  deliKht  I 
V  thou  Shalt  pass  away 
"sleofrest  for  thee, 
r  a  wandering  wind, 
P  low  all  delight  " 
like   wild   birds    that 

;ht  and  wail  their  way 
>wn  the  long  wind  the 

;  mingled  with  dim 

among  the  hil|s, 
ack  d  By  night, 
^andchildwiihwail 
a  Arthur  woke  and 

a.    O  light  upon  the 

-  voice— are  these 

aunts  the  waste  and 

o  along  with  me  ? " 

Sir  Bedivere  and 

5  whatever  will, 
lamourcfthe  field  • 
ne  and  clory  cling' 
[olden  cloud 
shalt  not  pass, 
and  light  in  death 
'  as  the  man  ; 
ims  from  him,  but 

'  in  the  west, 
-*ople,and  knights 
'loved,  but  gross- 
sir  vows  and  tiiee 
'OW  thee  for  the 

as  of  old." 

to  Sir  Bedivere  : 

the  west 

en  we  strove  in 

>m  the  Roman 

tfj-    111  doom  is 

d  mv  knights. 
5  fights  himself, 
oved  me  once, 

iy  death  to  me. 
feel  a  way 


TffE  PASSING  OF  ARTHUR. 


a«J 


Thro  this  blind  haze,  which  ever  since  I  saw 
One  lying  m  the  dust  at  Almesbury, 
Hath  folded  in  the  passes  of  the  world." 

Then  rose  the  King  and  moved  his  host  bv 
night. 
And  ever  push'd  Sir  Modred,  league  by 

league, 
Back  to  the  sunset  bound  of  Lyonnesse  — 
A  land  of  old  upheaven  from  the  abyss 
By  fire,  to  sink  into  the  abyss  again  ; 
where  fragments  of  forgotten  peoples  dwelt, 
And  the  lon^  mountains  ended  in  a  coast 
Of  ever-shifting  sand,  and  far  away 
The  phantom  circle  of  a  moaning  sea. 
There  the  pursuer  could  pursue  no  more, 
And  he  that  fled  no  further  fly  the  King  ; 
And  there,  that  day  when  the  great  light  of 

heaven 
Burn'd  at  his  lowest  in  the  rolling  year. 
On  the  waste  sand  by  the  waste  sea  they 

closed. 
Nor  ever  yet  had  Arthur  fought  a  fight 
Like  this  last,  dim,  weird  battle  of  the  west. 
A  deathwhite  mist  slept  over  sand  and  sea  : 
Whereof  the  chill,  to  him  who  breathed  it, 

dvew 
Down  with  hi?  blood,  till  all  his  heart  was 

cold 
With  formless  fear ;  and  ev'n  on  Arthur  fell 
Confusion,  since  he  saw  not  whom  he  fought. 
For  friend  and  foe  were  shadows  in   the 

mist. 
And  friend  slew  friend  not  knowing  whom 

he  slew ; 
And  some  had  visions  out  of  golden  youth. 
And  some  beheld  the  faces  of  old  ghosts 
Look  in  upon  the  battle  ;  and  in  the  mist 
Was  many  a  noble  deed,  many  a  base, 
And  chance  and  craft  and  strength  in  single 

And  ever  and  anon  with  host  to  host 
Shocks,  and  the  splintering  spear,  the  hard 

mail  hewn, 
Shield-breakings,  and  the  clash  of  brands, 

the  crash 
Of  battleaxes  on  shatter'd  helms,  and  shrieks 
After  the  Christ,  of  those  who  falling  down 
Looked  up  for  heaven,  and  only  saw  the 

mist ; 
And  shouts  of  heathen  and  the  traitor  knights. 
Oaths,  insult,  filth,  and  monstrous  blasphe- 
mies. 
Sweat,  writhings,  anguish,  laboring  of  the 

lungs 
In  that  close  mist,  and  cryings  for  the  light. 
Moans  of  the  dying,  and  voices  of  the  dead. 

Last,  as  by  some  one  death-bed  after  wail 
Of  sutTering,  silence  follows,  or  thro'  death 
Ur  deathlike  swoon,  thus  over  all  that  shore. 
Save  for  some  whisper  of  the  seething  seas, 
A  dead  hush  fell ;   but  when  the  dolorous 

day 
Grew  drearier  toward  twilight  falling,  came 
A  bitter  wind,  clear  from  the  North,  and 

blew  _ 
The  mist  aside,  and  with  that  wind  the  tide 


Rose,  and  the  pale  king  glanced  across  the 

field 
Of  battle  :  but  no  man  was  moving  there ; 
Nor  any  cry  of  Christian  heard  thereon. 
Nor  yet  of  heathen ;  only  the  wan  wave 
Brake  in  among  dead  faces,  to  and  fro 
Swaying  the  helpless  hands,  and  up  and  down 
Tumbling  the  hollow  helmets,  of  the  fallen. 
And  shiver'd  brands  that  once  had  fought 

with  Rome, 
And  rolling  far  along  the  gloomy  shores 
The  voice  of  days  of  old  and  days  to  be. 

Then  spake  King  Arthur  to  Sir  Bedivere, 
And  whiter  than  the  mist  that  all  day  long 
Had  held  the  field  of  battle  was  the  King : 

"  Hearest    thou    this   great    •vr.i.it    tha< 

shakes  the  world, 
And  wastes  the  narrow  realm  whereon  we 

move. 
And  beats  upon  the  faces  of  the  dead. 
My  dead,  as  tho'  they  had  notdied  for  me  ?  — 
O  Bedivere,  for  on  my  heart  hath  fall'n 
Confusion,  till  I  know  not  what  I  am. 
Nor  whence  I  am,  nor  whether  I  be  king. 
Behold,  I  seem  but  king  among  the  dead." 

Then  spake  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  :  "  My 

King, 
King  everywhere  I  and  so  the  dead  have 

kings. 
There  also  will  I  worship  thee  as  king 
Yet  still  thy  life  is  whole,  and  still  I  live 
Who  love  thee ;  but  who  hates  thee,  he  that 

brought 
The  heathen  back  among  us,  yonder  stands, 
Modred,    unharm'd,  the    traitor   of  thine 

house." 

Then  spake  the  King :  "  My  house  hath 

been  my  doom. 
But  call  not  thou  this  traitor  of  my  house 
Who  hath  but  dwelt  beneath  one  roofwith  me. 
My  house  are  rather  they  who  sware  my 

vows, 
Yea.  even  whi\e  they  brake  them,  own'd  me 

king. 
And  well  for  thee,  saying  in  my  dark  hour, 
When  all  the  purport  of  my  throne  hath  fail'd, 
That  quick  or  dead  thou  boldest  me  for  king. 
King  am  I,  whatsoever  be  their  cry  ; 
And  one  last  act  of  kinghood  shalt  thou  see 
Yet,  ere  I  pass."    And  uttering  this  the  king 
Made  at  the  man  :  then  Modred  smote  his 

liege 
Hard  on  that  helm,  which  many  a  heathen 

sword 
Had  beaten  thin  ;  while  Arthur  at  one  blow. 
Striking  the  last  stroke  with  F.xcalihur 
Slew  him,  and  all  but  slain  himself,  he'felL 

So  all  day  long  the  noise  of  battle  roll'd 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea  ; 
Until  King  Arthur's  Table,  man  by  man, 
Had  fall'n  in  Lyonnesse  about  their  lord, 
King  Arthur.   Then,  because  his  wound  was 
deep, 


a66 


A  broke'  chancel  wte'h"'!''  "^<'  ""^'d. 
That  stood  on  a  da^  St^a.^^^'of  h"  "°'',- 
On  one  side  lay  the  Ocean   1^"'''' ''"''  = 
Lay  a  great  water  anrffhr'"''  °"  ""^ 
"rtier,  and  the  moon  was  full 

Of  Camelot,  as  wt^^f    ^  ?"^  '^e  ha  Is 
I  perish  by\hfs  "  „„l/''l'',''^'^^«^e. 

Thou  therefore  ta'ke  n»':r^''^''"  "«'"'■ 
Which  was  my  pride  "  for  ,h"'^  Excalibur, 
how     ''^  ^-  '°'^'"°"'-ememberi  ♦ 

And,  wheresoever  r  an)^         '  "''*  ^  king  ; 
word. "  "^''  ^"^  ''Shtly  bring  me 


^^^  ^^-y^/A^C  OyP  ARTHUR. 


Th\"Vhiste"ff and'^''^''  r'^^'E^. 
Sostrodehetetw^aSo"ite.?g^• 

"  SsTth^of  ^S?^.^--;!,- to  S.V  Bedivere  : 
,  ^ave  ?  "y  '"'ss'on  which  I 

"^'^^U;.".""  '^-^ -en?  or  what  ha. 

"  I'^he'i^d"  this;  "'\^°'''  Sir  Bedlvere  • 
AndtheAa-SKtfcS--- 
To  whom  replied  King  Arthur,  faint  and 

This  is  a  shamef^iT- '°'V°'^  "'«>  mere.     ' 
Vet  now!  I  chaS  tZ^  ^°'-  T,^"  '"  '■«• 
As  thou  krt  lief  fnd  d«  ''"".'''/  «°  ^ga'"". 
I  bade  thee    watch    an^^"''.''?  "'« 'hing 
word."  '  ''"''  ^'Sl^'ly  bring  me 

AcTosrth7?i^|?f„1S- ''r  ^•'=""d  t-e 
&SeVh^^!S?^tel-tte^^^^^^^^ 

H.S  palms  together,  and  he  cried  aloud: 


"  Ss't  m^iT's?^?^°'^S'r  Bedivere  : 
Aidless,  al^ne  anH.^"^'  '°'"ve  thee  thus, 
A  little  hngmavhar'^"  «hro' the  helm - 
Yet  I  (hy  best  wiVan  n  %^°''nded  man ; 

P      .  ping  down  ^'     "«,  step 

Anfet:  tSiih^""^  Excalibur. 
Bnghte.,in,.i.es\^»i^-"ao^^^^ 

For'rS'h\Trwi£r^^trv''^'>"'= 

-,       sparks.  '""""'ed  w.th   diamond 

Mvnads  of  topaz-lieht,  =^d  in-,S-        , 
Of  subtlest  jeweirv"    \f2      ■'='i"T"work 

I"  act  toTrow  :'i,f,'"''^;"f  ,"'«  ^^i^  "lind, ' 
Better  to  leave  iitr^'X'/r^ 


Suref;f  prlcff  th-''^'  '^^  ^'^^^  away 
Shouldffie  ?o,te  °""r^°«'?y  "ote; 

Which^mJhthi-fe^tey'iV/X 

What  good^should  follow  this,  if  this  were 

ShSuIdTet'arS  e't  ."'-"^  '-'^ 
And  rumorsVfrdo  bt'?  butl":?!'',^^''' 
Stored^m^^some  treasure'^KLro^mife 

So  m-ght^some  old  man  sp^aSthe  after- 
Ki^»fe-^=^.    were 

King,  ^'°^  '°  t'le  wounded 


Wted  waterflags, 
'nd  dry  about  the  marire 
ow  to  the  wounded  Ki^g; 

Arthur  to  Sir  Bedivere: 
'  a  my  mission  which  I 

ast  seen?  or  what  has 

the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  • 
vashing  in  the  reeds 
ippingon  the  crag.  •'• 

King  Arthur,  faint  and 

hynatureandthynaitie 
iswer,  as  beseem'd 
1  noble  knight  ; 

llowd,  either  hand, 
ion  of  the  mere 
ng  for  men  to  lie 

e,  quickly  go  again, 
>nd  lightly  bring  me 

•ere  the  second  time 
^."'^I'efide  the  mere, 
'''es  fix'd  in  thought  • 
vonderofthehilt      ' 
trangely    chased,  he 

i  he  cried  aloud  : 

t  the  brand  away 
one  worthy  note! 
'er  from  t)ie  earth. 
«d  the  eyes  of  many 

'W  this,  if  this  were 

ep  harm  to  disobev 
lond  of  rule. 
I,  if  a  king  demand 
ist  himself? 
nows  not  what  he 

c  of  my  lord 
ut  empty  breath 
'ut  were  this  kept, 
house  of  mighty 

t  a  joust  of  arms 
ord,  Excalibiir,  ' 
den  of  the  Lake 

ittinginthedeeos 
le  hills,' 

3eak  in  the  after- 
reverence, 
nuchfame  were 


his  own  conceit, 

d  tune, 

3  the  wounded 


T//E  PASSING  OF  ARTHUR. 


Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  breathing  heav- 

'What  is  it  thou  hast  seen?  or  what  hast 
heard?" 


4.  ^u     answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  : 
A   J  'u*   .  '"*  **'^'"  'aPP'ng  on  the  crag, 
And  the  long  npple  washing  in  the  reeds." 

To  whom  replied  King  Art*    r,  much  in 
wrath : 
"Ah,  miserable  and  unkind,  untrue, 
Unknightly,  traitor-hearted  I    Woe  is  me  I 
Authoritv  forgets  a  dying  king. 
Laid  widow'd  of  the  power  in  his  eye 
Ihat  bow'd  the  will.     I  see  thee  what  thou 

art, 
For  thou,  the  latest-left  of  all  my  knights 
In  whom  should  meet  the  offices  of  all 
Thou  wouldst  betray  me  for  the  precious 

Either  from  lust  of  gold,  or  like  a  girl 
Valuing  the  giddy  pleasure  of  the  eyes. 
A  'j    L  *  *"*"  ""ay  fail  in  duty  twice, 
And  the  third  time  may  prosper,   get  thee 

hence : 
But,  if  thou  spare  to  fling  Excalibur, 
1  will  arise  and  slay  thee  with  my  hands." 

Then  quickly  rose  Sir  Bedivere.  and  ran. 
And,    leaping  down    the    ridges    lightly 

plunged  "     •" 

Among  the  bulrush-beds,  and  dutch'd  the 

sword. 
And  strongly  wheel'd  and  threw  it.    The 

great  brand 
Made  lightnings  in  the  splendor  of  the  moon, 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whiri'd  in 

an  arch, 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  mom, 
Seen  where  the  moving  isles  of  winter  shock 
By  night,  with  noises  of  the  northern  sea. 
So  flash'd  and  fell  the  brand  Excalibur: 
But  ere  he  dipt  the  surface,  rose  an  arm 
Clothed  m  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
And  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandish'd 

him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the 

mere. 
And  lightly  went  the  other  to  the  King. 

Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  drawing  thicker 
breath  : 
''  Now  see  I  by  thine  eyes  that  this  is  done, 
speak  out :  what  is  it  thou  hast  heard,  or 
seen  ?  " 


367 

That  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandish'd 

him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the 

mere." 

And  answer  made  King  Arthur,  breathing 

"  My  end  draws  nigh  ;  't  is  time  that  I  were 
gone. 

Make  broad  thy  shoulders  to  receive  mv 
weight,  ' 

And  bear  me  to  the  margin  ;  yet  I  fear 
My  wound  hath  taken  cold,  and  I  shall  die." 

So  saying  from  the  pavement  he  half  rose, 
blowly,  with  pain,  reclining  on  his  arm, 
And  looking  wistfully  with  wide  blue  eves 
As  in  a  picture.     Him  Sir  Bedivere 
KemorsefuUy  regarded  thro'  his  tears. 
And  would  have  spoken,  but  he  fouud  not 

words ; 
Then  took  with  care,  and  kneeling  on  one 

knee, 
O'er  both  his  shoulders  drew  the  languid 

hands, 
And  rising  bore  him  thro'  the  place  of  tombs. 

But,  as  he  walk'd,  King  Arthur  pante.i 
hard. 
I  «Ju®  °"f,  that  feels  a  nightmare  on  his  bed 
wjien  all  the  house  is  mute.    So  sigh'd  the 
King, 

Mutteringandmurmuringathisear.  "Quick 
cjuick  1  ^ 

I  fear  it  is  too  late,  and  I  shall  die." 

But  the  other  swiftly  strode  from  ridge  to 

ridge. 
Clothed  with  his  breath,  and  looking,  as  he 

W31K  Uj 

Larger  than  human  on  the  frozen  hills 
He  heard  the  deep  behind  him,  and  a  cry 
Before.     His  own  thought  drove  him  li  .e  a 

goad. 
Dry  clash'd  his  harness  in  the  icy  caves 
And  barren  chasms,  and  all  to  left  and  right 
1  he  bare  black  cliff  clang'd  round  him,  as  he 

based 
His  feet  on  juts  of  slippery  crag  that  rang 
Sharp-smitten  with  the  dint  of  armed  heels- 
And  on  a  sudden,  lo  1  the  level  lake, 
And  the  long  glories  of  the  winter  moon. 


„  o"^  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  : 
Sir  King,  I  closed  mine  eyelids,  lest  the 

gems 
Should  blind  my  purpose,  for  I  never  saw, 
Nor  shall  see,  here  or  elsewhere,  till  I  die, 
Not  tho'  I  live  three  lives  of  mortal  men. 
So  great  a  miracle  as  yonder  hilt. 
Then  with  both  hands  I  flung  him,  wheeling 

him  ; 
But  when  I  look'd  again,  behold  an  arm, 
Uothed  m  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful 


Then  saw  they  how  there  hove  a  dusky 

barge. 
Dark  as  a  funeral  scarf  from  stem  to  stern, 
Beneatli   them  ;  and  descending  they  were 

ware 
That  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately 

forms, 
Black-stoled.  black-hooded,  like  a  dream  — 

by  these 
Three  Queens  with  crowns  of  gold :  and  from 

them  rose 
A  cry  that  shiver'd  to  the  tingling  stars, 
And,  as  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 
Of  lamentation,  like  a  wind  that  shrills 
All  night  in  awaste  land,  where  noonecomev 
Or  hath  come,  since  the  making  of  the  world 


a6S 


Place  me  in  the 
There  those 


^"^/''r^ba'-ge  they  came, 

P"tforththe.rha„d,.a„dtooUheKi„g.a„d 

|ndt^es^'ard7,i^t!fJ'^''°'-Lhemall 

And  loosed  the  shatt^rM    "P""  ''^''  '^P. 
^         his  hands  '         '^  "''J"^'  ^nd  chafed 

And  cai,.dhim'by  his  name,  complaining 
white  '"'  '"s  'ace  was 

^ot^t':h^?;^>'ttwit,j..d„,oo„ 

east;  ^  °' '"^  springing 

And  a^is^greaves  and  cuissesdash'd  with 

Th^^^et^lll^.K^^ndlustrouscurls- 
H.gh  from  the  Shro  ,/     """^  '"" 

with  dust  ■  "*  ~  """^  Parch'd 

From  spur  to  XZ  A  ^f' '  ^"  ""  «^t. 
Shot  thro'  the  lists  .trl    o/ tournament, 

Bete  ,1.  .rJ'raiS'Sig  *rg.d 


rve  FAssrm  of  asthus. 


lawns  '  PPy-  '='"■  ^'"'  orchard- 
And  bowery  hollows  crown'd  with  summer 
^""'^Lt^    ""'^    -^  of  -y    grievous 


•■  Ah  rmy"£d  tlh'u  ^  ""i^  t'  ^^''■•-re  : 
K^w'fjeSr^S^lnHii-^ 

S-chtin^JS^-outag^,^ 

Sfn'ow'th^e' tToi:^'  "^^  ?;T'  of  niyrrh. 
Which  was  an  imt^?f?u"  ^^'''e  is  dissolved 
And  r.  the  last^n^r!.  X""^  '"'K'^'y  world  ; 

AndthedaVs"aVfe°nSnre''S^' 
Amongnewmen.  strangefa«s,Xrm& 

And^  slowly  answered  Arthur   from   the 
Theold^orderchangeth.  yielding  place  to 


W.th  swarthy  webs.    Long  stood  Sir  Bedi- 

feSLS^-^Sl^|n[ehnn 

dawn,  "tainst  the  verge  of 

And  on  the  mere  the  wailing  died  away. 


moving  yet, 


-^       aone  *^"  *  "rtve 

fiCshtSt'LreSfi^pr '  ''"*.'''-■  I 

Pray  for  my  soul     More^hTnl?^^  "•«''"• 
T,,       by  prayer       """'^  "^'"gs  are  wrought  j 

ihan  this  world  dreams  of     \Vh<.H  f        ,     '' 
P .       thy  voice  ^  nercfore,  let  j 


At  lengt|,hegroan'd.  and  turning  slowly 

.,„     and  cried,  ''""  "'"^'"g: 

And  aCTeI?i.!l%'^'l!f,  ^'^o-'g  the  dead. 

He  comes  again  ?bm;?r^^°"'  ^'""'d 

O  me,  be  yon  dark  O. 7/''-^  ^""'^  "°  '""re  - 

Who  shn^ek-d  and  waif"/  \V°?  ^^'"''^  '^"«t. 
we  gazed  '  "'^  """^  thereat 

On  that^high  day.  when,  clothed  with  living 
They  stood^ before  his  throne  in  silence. 

or  Arthur,  whoshouldhelphimat  hisneed?" 
/'"urfr!'^''--'-'n'd  there  came. 

&Sefe^,^^,S^^ft'^rLr^' 
Sounds,  as  if  ««mo  r,"    •      great  cry. 

Aro„„daiii--^Sr.:irj;r- 


Thereat^once  more  he  moved  about,  and 

Strai,:i°?h'i3''4i?L'nVa?h"'''  ^'■%^'  -'^  --. 
Or  thoulht  he  s4   »h!    ^  ■■",'  ^'i'^''  o^hand. 
kinJ.^  saw.  the  speck  that  bare  thV 

s!)ZVl!'e're'faWna?P'"'"^.°"  ">«  ^eep 
from  less  to  less  and  !  °",*'"3'^  °"-  ""d  go 


I  ft  with.n  the  brain, 
lift  not  liands  of  prayer 
Id  those  who  cairthem 

d  earth  is  every  wa\ 
about  the  feet  of  God 

-"findeedlgo 

;udcd  with  a  doubt)  — 
Ayihon  ; 

""j,'"'  ""^  'T'v  snow, 
'Udly  ;  but  It  lies 
y>  ftir  witli  orchard- 

own'd  with  summer 

ne  of  my    grievous 

rge  with  oar  and  sail 
ike  some  full-breast- 

I  ere  her  death, 
"me,  and  takes  the 

'ng  stood  Sir  Bedi 

:s,  till  the  hull 
;ainst  the  verge  of 

ing  died  away. 

nd  turning  slowly 

hat  iron  crag  ; 
hull  moving  yet 

oiig  the  dead, 
evous  wound 
icomenoniore  — 
n  yon  black  boat, 
he  three  whereat 

3thed  with  living 

rone  in   silence, 

limat  his  need?" 

m'd  there  came, 

the  world, 
great  cry, 
vere  one  voice 
1  his  wars. 

ved  about,  and 

■limb,  and  saw, 
arch  of  hand, 
that  bare  the 

r  on  the  deep 
d  on,  and  go 
ito  light, 
the  new  year. 


NORTHERN  FARMER. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


••9 


NORTHERN  FARMER. 

NEW  STYLE. 
I. 

Dosn't  thou  'ear  my  'erse's  legs,  as  they 

canters  awaiiy  ? 
Proputty,  proputty,  proputty  —  that 's  what 

I  'ears  em  saay. 
Proputty,  proputty,  proputty  —  Sam,  thou  's 

an  ass  for  thy  paains  : 
Theer  's  moor  sense  i'  one  o'  'is  legs  nor  in 

all  thy  braains, 

II. 
WoU  — theer 's  a  craw  to  pluck  wi'  tha,  SamJ: 

yon  's  parson's  'ouse  — 
Dosn't  thou  knaw  that  a  man  mun  be  eather 

a  man  or  a  mouse  ? 
Time  to  think  on  it  then  ;  for  thou   'U  be 

twenty  to  weeak.* 
Proputty,  proputty  —  woii  then  woa,  —  let  ma 

'ear  mysdn  speUk. 

III. 
Me   an'    thy   muther,    Sammy,    'as   beiin 

a-talkm'  o'  thee  ; 
Thou  's  been  talkin'  to  muther,  an'  she  bean 

a  tellin'  it  me. 
Thou  '11  not  marry  for  munny  —  thou  's  sweet 

upo'  parson's  lass  — 
Noa  —  thou  '11  marry  fur  luvv  — an'  we  boSth 

on  us  thinks  tha  an  ass. 

IV. 

Seea'd  her  todaSy  goa  by  —  Saaint's-daay 

—  they  was  ringing  the  bells. 

She's  a  beauty  thou  thinks  —  an'  soa  is 

scoors  o '  gells. 
Them  as  'as  munny  an'  all —  wot 's  a  beauty  ? 

—  the  flower  as  blaws. 

But  proputty,  proputty  sticks,  an'  proputty, 
proputty  graws. 

V. 

Do'ant  be  stunt :  \  taake  time :   I  knaws 

what  mailkes  tha  sa  mad. 
Wam't  I  craazed  fur  the  lasses  mys^n  when 

I  wur  a  lad? 
But  I  knaw'd  a  Qua^lcer  feller  as  oAen  'as 

towd  ma  this : 
"Doint  thou  marry  for  munny,  but  goa  wheer 

munny  is  I " 

VI. 

An'  I  went  wheer  munny  war :  an*  thy  mother 

coom  to  'and, 
Wi'  lots  o'  munny  laaid  by,  an'  a  nicetish  bit 

o'  land. 


*  This  week. 


t  Obstinate. 


Maaybe  she  wam't  a  beauty :  —  I  niver  giv 

it  a  thowt  — 
But  wam't  she  as  good  to  cuddle  aa*  kiss  as 

a  lass  as  'ant  nowt  ? 

VII. 

Parson's  lass  'ant  nowt,  an'  she<  weant  'a 
nowt  when  'e  's  dead, 

Mun  be  a  guvness,  lad,  or  summut,  and  ad- 
dle *  her  bread  : 

Why?  fur  'e  's  nobbut  a  curate,  an'  we^nt 
nivir  git  naw  'igher ; 

An'  'e  maade  the  bed  as  'e  ligs  on  afoor  'e 
coom'd  to  the  shire. 

VIII. 

And  thin  'e  coom'd  to  the  parish  wi'  lots  o' 
'Varsity  debt, 

Stook  to  his  taail  they  did,  an'  'e  'ani  got 
shut  on  'em  yet. 

An'  'e  ligs  on  'is  back  i'  the  grip,  wi'  noin  to 
lend  'im  a  shove, 

Woorse  nor  a  far-welter'd  t  yowe :  fur,  Sam- 
my, 'e  married  fur  luvv. 

IX. 

Luw  ?    What 's  luvv  ?  thou  can  luw  thy 

lass  an'  'er  munny  too, 
Maakin'  'em  goa  togither  as  they've  good 

right  to  do. 
Could'n  I  luw  thy  muther  by  cause  o'  'er 

munny  laaid  by  ? 
Naay  —  fur  I  luw'd  'er  a  vast  sight  moor 

fur  it :  reason  why. 

X. 

Ay  an'  thy  muther  says  thou  wants  to  marry 

the  lass, 
Cooms  of  a  gentleman  bum  :  an'  we  boath 

on  us  thinks  tha  an  ass. 
WoS  then,   proputty,   wiltha? — an  ass  as 

near  as  mays  nowt  t  — 
Woa  then,  wiltha  ?  dangtha  I  —  the  bees  is  as 

fell  as  owt.  § 

XI. 

Break  me  a  bit  o'  the  esh  for  his  'eUd,  lad, 

out  o'  the  fence  ! 
Gentleman  bum  I  what 's  gentleman  bum  ? 

is  it  shillins  an'  pence? 
Proputty,   proputty  'tf  ivrything  'ere,  an', 

SamiTiy,  I  'ra  blest 
If  it  isn't  the  saame  oop  yonder,  fur  them  as 

'as  it 's  the  best. 

•  Earn. 

t  Or  fow-welter'd  —  said  of  a  slieep  lyinjr  oa  Its 
back  in  the  furro\¥. 
1  Makes  nothing. 
S  The  flies  are  as  fierce  as  anything. 


n   I 


ajfo 


THE  yiCTJAT. 


XII. 


'eyther   ad  nmniost  nowf   W-i  . 

Bufetuedan'n,oii'd'is3.„  ,  ... 

a  good  UD,  'e  did  ^^'  ""  '«died 

XIV. 

^      'iiveTor° ''"•'"«■ -•'hat. hou-i, 


And  dead  men  lay  a  'ov'e'^  '^°°'^' 
Or  down  in  a  fur,  "^  ""^  way, 

And  ever  anS  aye   hTSl^"  "V'''  ««-=  = 
I'il  at  iast  itseem'd  fhi?i  ""'^  "'"^"'d 

Jn  child  and  wife  ;^ 
J,ake  you  his  dearest 

III. 


^';;«e^^i^''«-'»^-''«rbyI 
""fttrCrJ'^<^"n.I,ne.ve.he 

canter  awaay.    *^°P''"y-- canter  an* 


i' 


They  found  the  m„H  ""«•'"  "'«  wild 
.„  She  cast  he  a^i'ih  '""?8  «"'  • 
Ihe  child  was onjvpi  t""'  ""^  child. 

H's  face  was\uddy  his  r,;^'^"""  increased. 
He  seem'd  a  vicdm  ri,  1  ^  "','"  «°'d, 

JhePri^^sl'^eh'^dh"^"^*^"-'- 
.^.?.f,  "^-led  with  joy,    "'• 

"'n^^'bl^e  bth't'l'^"'"'  °Ht  the  wild. 
The  mother  sai'd'he|,";'e'n  hand;   ' 

child  ^^^y  have  taken  the 

Thela^n^i^is'lU'^lf^-id  heal  the  land: 

And  blieht  anH  f    P*°P'«  diseased, 
The  holy" &ods  fc'lf  ?l  ""  "'e  lea  : 

They  will  have  his  iffe     * 
^  'Y  your  dearest? 
Or  ithe  wife  ? - 


V. 


THE  VICTIM  ^H  ^'"•^  hent  low,  with  h,n^      .. 

,   He  stav'd  hi.!  ,J^          "^"d  on  brow 
I  "n  ....r"-'  .  "'s  arms  unon  h;.  i " 


:!'AaVarr!;wp'v«>". 

Then  thorne  a,,rf  u"*  'hem  low, 

^  ^°':on  t^em  bratehT^'."«^«' 
^o  thick  they  died  iL^  *",''''«'>  foe  ; 
.,..    The  Gods  are  mV>   "i^P'*  cried. 

An^  n?""'^""' famine  "'*• 
drh,f''«^",^.«nd  strife  1 
Huta^ffi^-havcifu,? 
^ere  it  our  nearest 


(Answer °0  ''"'■*''• 
^nsvyer,  O  answer) 

*^e  give  you  his  li4>' 


II. 


">i^'iL&^^'aj2s-s'^. 


He  s  3i't  •'  '°^'  *''h  hand 
•'O  wifetUatus:"?^  "P°"  his  knee"." 
,      For  now  the  P-:      '''"^'^^''  "°* ' 
The  King  was  iT' ''''?  "^S^d  for  me  " 

I      "The^^s  .'tlaV'"'  ''°'j'/5«^- 

(,.        en  well;         ^"^'     wo"ld  have  chos 

'     "n'lteS/at^/^e^-''^^ 

B;"''heP°r1L?^ate;'«"'" 
•■  U7  ^'.ctmi  won  :  ^P^' 

VVe  have  his  dearest. 
His  only  son  I "       ^ 

•'Me,not^TdarliL^T?,?'<'"e. 
,  Sudd"fnVf™rhrmf  V  l"-dden  "V; 
And  shrieking  ?•  /TJ^H  ""^  ^'fe. 
/am  his  deiVesf  I  -^n 'li"'"-"'-  '  - 

And  the  pL  J  "''  'l""  'he  i".ife. 


THE  HIGHER  FAN lil EISM.  — LUCRETIUS. 


'»hes  tum'd 
e  rolling  flood  • 
over  the  way, 
'scathed  with  flame  • 
f  nesthood  moan'd  ' 
"'at  an  answer  came' 

flippy  • 

'ife; 
Jearest, 


heath  and  hill  • 
e.""  the  wild;  ' 
sitting  still  ; 
ut  the  child, 
.summers  old, 
's  .years  increased 
lair  was  gold, 

e  to  the  priest. 
Id  him, 

3y, 

answer'd : 
e  boy." 


»7« 


Iff  the  wild, 
m  hand; 
'  have 


taken  the 


■al  the  land : 
-  diseased, 
>  all  the  lea  : 
\l  appeased, 
'h  to  me. 
»  son, 
life. 


id  on  brow, 

s  knee ; 

now.> 

?ed  for  me." 

>Jy  fear ; 

uld  have  chos 

re  dear, 
mot  tell  I " 

ppy. 


ared, 
■  blow, 
3ne, 

len  cry  ; 
wife, 
it,  i  — 
the  knife. 

>y. 


We  give  you  a  life. 
Wliitli  was  Ills  nearest? 
Who  was  his  dearest .' 
The  Gods  have  auswer'd ; 
We  give  them  the  wife  !  " 


WAGES. 

Glory  of  warrior,  glory  of  orator,  glory  of 
.  song, 
Paid  with  a  voice  flying  by  to  be  lost  on  an 
endless  sea  — 
Glory  of  Virtue,  to  fight,  to  struggle,  to  right 
the  wrong  — 
Nay,  but  she  aim'd  not  at  glory,  no  lover 
of  glory  she  : 
Give  her  the  glory  of  going  on,  and  still 
to  be. 

The  wa^es  of  sin  is  death  :  if  the  wages  of 
Virtue  be  dust, 
Would  she  have  heart  to  endure  for  the  life 
of  the  worm  and  the  fly? 
She  desires  no  isles  of  the  blest,  no  quiet  seats 
of  the  just. 
To  rest  in  a  golden  grove,  or  to  bask  in  a 
summer  sky  : 
Give  her  the  wages  of  going  on,  and  not  to  die. 


THE  HIGHER  PANTHEISM. 

Thb  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  seas,  the 

hills  and  the  plains  — 
Are  not  these,  O  Soul,  the  Vision  of  Him 

who  reigns  ? 

Is  not  the  Vision  He  ?  tho'  He  be  not  that 

which  He  seems? 
Dreams  are  true  while  they  last,  and  do  we 

not  live  in  dreams  ? 

Earth,  these  solid  stars,  this  weight  of  body 

and  limb. 
Are  they  not  sign  and  symbol  of  thy  division 

from  Him  ? 

Dark  is  the  world  to  thee :  thyself  art  the  rea- 

.son  why  ? 
For  is  He  not  all  but  thou,  that  hast  power 

to  feel  "  I  am  I  ?  " 

Glory  about  thee,  without  thee ;  and  thou 

fulfiUest  thy  doom. 
Making  Him  broken  gleams,  and  a  stifled 

splendor  and  gloom. 

Speak  to  Him  thou  for  He  hears,  and  Spirit 

with  Spirit  can  meet  — 
Qoser  is  He  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than 
hands  and  feet. 


God  is  law.  say  the  wise ;  O  Soul,  and,let  us 

rejoice, 
For- 

His  voice. 


reii 
•  if  He  thunder  by  law  the  thunder  is  yet 


Law  is  God,  say  some  :  no  Uod  at  all,  says 

the  fool ; 
For  all  we  have  power  to  see  is  a  straight  staff 

bent  in  a  pool ; 

And  the  ear  of  man  cannot  hear  and  the  eye 

of  man  cannot  see  ; 
But  if  we  could  see  and  hear,  this  Vision  — 

were  it  not  He? 


Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies  ;  — 

Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand. 
Little  (lower  — but  if  I  could  understand 

What  yon  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 


LUCRETIUS. 

LuciLlA,  wedded  to  Lucretius,  found 

Her  master  cold ;    for  when  the  mominK 

flush 
Of  passion  and  the  first  embrace  had  died 
Between  them,  tho'  he  loved  her  none  the 

less. 
Vet  often  when  the  woman  heard  his  foot 
Return  from  pacings  in  the  field,  and  ran 
'J'o  greet  him  with  a  kiss,  the  master  took 
Small  notice,  or  austerely,  for  —  his  mind 
Half  buried  in  some  weightier  argument. 
Or  fancy-borne  perhaps  upon  the  rise 
And  long  roll  of  the  Hexameter — he  past 
To  turn  and  ponder  those   three  hundred 

scrolls 
Left  by  the  Teacher  whom  he  held  divine. 
She  brook'd  it  not  ;  but  wrathful,  petulant. 
Dreaming  some  rival,  sought  and  found  a 

witch 
Who  brew'd  the  philtre  which  had  power, 

they  said, 
To  lead  an  errant  passion  home  again. 
And   this,   at  times,  she  mingled  with  his 

drink. 
And  thisdestroy'd  him  ;  for  the  wicked  broth 
Confused  the  chemic  labor  of  the  blood. 
And  tickling  the  brute  brain  within  the  man's 
Made  havoc  among  those  tender  cells,  and 

check'd 
His  power  to  shape:  he  loath'd  himself; 

and  once 
After  a  tempest  woke  upon  a  mom 
That  mock'd  him  with  returning  calm,  and 

cried  : 

"  Storm  in  the  night  I  for  thrice  I  heard 
the  rain 

Rushing  ;  and  once  the  flash  of  a  thunder- 
bolt— 

Methought  I  never  saw  so  fierce  a  fork  — 

Struck  out  the  streaming  mountain-side,  and 
show'd 

A  riotous  confluence  of  watercourses 


•7» 


i 


Mi 


■f^i 


And  iwre,"  „;  K"  ™  £,""«.«"""W«m. 
A»d..J.£4t.nV'»».'5t„d 


LUCRETIUS. 


I  '""'"Sd  '"^  ''"P  '""'  fr°-  the  lust  „ 
[iha.,„akesas.eanungslaugh,er.houseof 

"Ay.^but  I  meant  not  thee: -I  meant  noi 

""  SS'd."""-  '■■•  "™k.-d.  ».„ 

Av  ai.H  ti,;„  ^      •  *  ?°'deii  verse  — 
Tl,:,f        '  ,^  Kypris  also—  did  I  hi,. 


"^'lhe'brt"st/'^°'"  """  «'°°'"  '""od  out 
shamed  '^        '   ''"*   "^"1'  down 

Shot  o^ut^of  them,  and  scorch'"^  „e  that  I 

BeciuseTS,,r„!S'  ^1?^  ^•'•^"^'  ""'"^ 
Not  ev'n  a  ro  erC',"^^;/'';'''^  own  doves.' 

T..ch,„db.,..d,.d,*»„„u,.^„ 
T.ki„u,,M..o„,,„|,„„,.„j„„^^ 


feSvSc^9^[" '"  - -^^^^^^^^^^ 

Nor  sound  of  humin     "*"'"'"  '"oans, 

Letting  his  own  1  fe  go     Tl?.  r^'l"'". 
Gods!  ^        -^"^  Gods,  the 

Of  fl„  ■    "'y  Meinmius  in  a  train 

tmean t"  "•^'  ^"'^  '^^''"""^    Meant  > 
sS^S-^^^'^Sir^^S 
"Lo^ok^whereanotherofour  Gods,  the 

Has'a,Srro"de"r~."'"'  r"  '^'l  " 
Except^h^wlrSeS^-orSil^a 

Could  dead  flesh  ;r;»  """t"^  ^^  ""  ea«h 
Moan  round  the  snTt'''  "^  '"V'  °f  "-ousting  ox 
he  sees       ^P"-nor  knows  he  wha- 

Kmgofthe  East  althr' he  seem,  and  girt 


iep  him  from  the  lusi  o. 
niing  slaughter-house  of 

t  not  thee  ;  1  meant  not 

of  Ida  shook  to  ate 
e«  heaven  of  hers,  and 

Ji's    neat-herds    were 

•  wounded  hunter  wcDt 
'man-amorous  tears  • 
less  apple-arbiter 
"■er,  O  ye  Uods, 
t  tiicilian  called 
golden  verse  — 
Iso  —  did  I  take 
'nme  to  sliadovv  rbrth 
wers  and  genial  heat 
strikes  thro-  the  thick 

'  ''irge,  and  lambs  are 

flder,  and  the  bird 
:e  amid  the  blaze  of 

»he  work  of  mighty 

go  wty  work  is  left 
ne  Gods,  who  haunt 
world  and  world. 

3ud,  or  moves  a  wind, 
white  star  of  snow 
huiider  moans, 
rrow  mounts  to  mar 
;  calm  !  and  such, 
vine  a  calm, 
it,  man  may  eain 
o-    The   Gols,  the 

1  should  the  Gods 
oluble, 

?    My  master  held 
aU  men  so  believe, 
his,  and  meant 
nus  in  a  train 
i  to  the  proof 
deathless.  Meant? 

leant :  my  mind 
Ities  are  lamed. 

of  our  Gods,  the 

■  use 

at  you  will  — 
ce  he  never  swart, 
ak  d  on  wretched 

imong  the  dead 
r  yet  on  earth 
Its  of  roasting  ox 

■  knows  he  what 

seem,  and  girt 


LUCRETIUS. 


»7.1 


With  wmg  and  flame  and  fragrance,  slowly 
lifts  •' 

His  golden  feet  on  those  empurpled  stairs 
That  climb  into  the  windy  halls  of  heaven  : 
And  here  he  glances  on  an  eye  new-born. 
And  gets  for  greeting  but  a  wail  of  pain ; 
And  here  he  stays  upon  a  freezing  orb 
That  fain  would  ga/e  upon  him  to  the  last ; 
And  here  upon  a  yellow  eyelid  fall'n 
And  closed  by  those  who  mourn  a  friend  in 

vain. 
Not  thankful  that  his  troubles  are  no  more. 
And  rne,  altho'  his  fire  is  on  my  face 
Blinding,  he  sees  not,  nor  at  all  can  tell 
Whether  I  mean  this  day  to  end  myself, 
Or  lend  an  ear  to  Plato  where  he  says. 
That  men  like  soldiers  may  not  quit  the  post 
Allotted  by  the  Gods :  but  he  that  holds 
1  he  Gods  are  careless,  wherefore  need  he  care 
Greatly  for  them,  nor  rather  plunge  at  once, 
Being  troubled,  wholly  out  of  sight,  and  sink 
Past  earthquake  —  ay,  and  gout  and  stone, 

that  break 
Body  toward  death,  and  palsy,  death-in-life. 
And  wretched  age  — and  worst  disease  of  all, 
These  prodigies  of  myriad  nakednesses. 
And  twisted  shapes  of  lust,  unspeakable. 
Abominable,  strangers  at  my  hearth 
Not  welcome,  harpies  miring  every  dish. 
The  phantom  husks  of  something  foullydone, 
And  fleeting  thro'  the  boundless  universe, 
And  blasting  the  long  quiet  of  my  breast 
With  animal  heat  and  dire  insanity? 


"  How  should  the  mind,  except  it  loved 
them,  clasp 
These  idols  to  herself?  or  do  they  fly 
Now  thinner,  and  now  thicker,  hke  the  flakes 
In  a  fall  of  snow,  and  so  press  in,  perforce 
Of  multitude,  as  crowds  that  in  an  hour 
Of  civic  tumult  jam  the  doors,  and  bear 
The  keepers  down,  and  throng,  their  rags  and 

they, 
The  basest,  far  into  that  council-hall 
.  Where  sit  the  best  and  stateliest  of  the  land  ? 

"Can  I  not  fling  this  horror  off  me  again. 
Seeing  with  how  great  ease  Nature  can  smile. 
Balmier  and  nobler  from  her  bath  of  storm, 
At  random  ravage  ?  and  how  easily 
The  mountain   there  has  cast  his  cloudy 

slough. 
Now  towering  o'er  him  in  serenest  air, 
A   mountain    o'er  a  mountain,  -  ay,    and 

within 
All  hollow  as  the  hopes  and  fears  of  men. 

"  But  who  viras   he,  that  in  tlie  garden 

snared 
Picus  end  Faunus,  rustic  Gods?  a  tale 
lo  l.i.ugh  at  — mors  t.o  laugh  at  hi  myself - 
*  or  look  I  what  is  it  ?  there  ?  yon  arbutus 
loiters  ;  a  noiseless  riot  underneath 
Jstnkes  through  the  wood,  sets  all  the  tops 

quivering  — 
The  mountain  quickens  intr    Nymph  and 

Fauu  ; 
And  here  an  Oread  —  how  the  ,un  delights 

»8 


loglance  and  shift  about  her  slippery  sides. 
And  rosy  knees  and  supple  roundediiess. 
And  budded  bosom-peaks  — who  this  way 

runs 
Before  the  rest  —  A  satyr,  a  satyr,  see, 
h  ollows ;  but  him  I  proved  impossible  ; 
I  wy-natured  is  no  nature  :  yet  he  draws 
Nearer  and  nearer,  wwA  I  gcan  him  now 
Beastlier  than  any  phantom  of  his  kind 
I  hat  ever  butted  his  rough  brother-brute 
r  or  lust  or  lusty  blood  or  provender  : 
I  hate,  abhor,  spit,  sicken  at  him  ;  and  she 
Loathes  him  as  well ;  such  a  precipitate  heel, 
Hedged  as  it  were  with  ^Iercury•s  ankle- 

»       wing. 
Whirls  her  to  me  :  but  will  she  fling  herself, 
bhameless  upon  me  ?    Catch  her,  goatfoat  : 

nay. 
Hide,  hide  them,  million-myrtled  wilderness, 
And  cavern-shadowing  laurels,  hide  1  do  I 

wish  — 
What  ?  —  that  the  bush  were  leafless  ?  or  to 

whelm 
All  of  them  in  one  massacre  ?    O  ye  Gods, 
I  know  you  careless,  yet,  behold,  to  you 
From  childly  wont  and  ancient  use  I  call  — 
I  thought  I  lived  securely  as  yourselves  — 
No  lewdness,  narrowing  envy,  monkey-spite, 
No  madness  of  ambition,  avarice,  none  : 
No  larger  feast  than  under  plane  or  pine 
With  neighbors  laid  along  the  grass,  to  take 
Only  such  cups  as  left  us  friencfly-warm, 
Affirming  each  his  own  philosophy  — 
Nothing  to  mar  the  sober  majesties 
Of  settled,  sweet.  Epicurean  life. 
But  now  it  seems  some   unseen  monster 

lays 
His  vast  and  filthy  hands  upon  my  will, 
Wrenchitig  it  backward  into  his  :  and  spoils 
My  bliss  in  being  ;  and  it  was  not  great ; 
For  save  when  shutting  reasons  up  in  rhythm, 
Or  Heliconian  honey  m  living  words. 
To  make  a  truth  less  harsh,  I  often  grew 
Tired  of  so  much  within  our  little  life, 
Or  of  so  little  in  our  little  life- 
Poor  little  life  that  toddles  half  an  hour 
Crown'd  with  a  flower  or  two,  and  there  an 

end  — 
And  since  the  nobler  pleasure  seems  to  fade. 
Why  should  I,  beastlike  as  I  find  myself. 
Not  manlike  end  myself  ?  —  our  privilege  — 
What  beast  has  heart  to  do  it  ?    And  what 

man. 
What  Roman  would  be  dragg'd  in  triumph 

thus  ? 
Not  I ;  not  he,  who  bears  one  name  with  her. 
Whose  death-blow  struck  the  dateless  doom 

of  kings. 
When  brooking  not  the  Tarquin  in  her  veins. 
She  made  her  olood  in  sight  of  Collatine 
And  aii  his  peers.  Hushing  the  guiltless  air, 
Spout  from  the  maiden  fountain  in  her  heart 
And  from  it    sprang  the    Commonwealth, 

which  breaks 
As  I  am  breaking  now  I 

,      .        .      .  "  And  therefore  now 

Let  her,  that  is  the  womb  and  tomb  of  all, 


Hi 


•74 


i" 


Th!f'  ur'".''?'  '*■••'  ""^  ^O'cing  far  apart 
Ihoseblmd  beginning:  -hat  hi  ve  mide  me 

Thri!  '';«'"  "ne*  together  at  f.er  will 

mor^,    »>"   cycles^ into  man   aiu-» 

BL.'^rlh^'''''''  *?■■  '^''J-  ""^  "P"'"'  flower  : 
^hJ,    , '''.'V'^°»""c  order  everywhere 
Cr«ck/,n',"'"  ""^  ""hquake'in  one  day 
Is  no,  '"f '    Ph  "''  ~  ""dthathourperhap, 
Shan  »^i?   ^'"'"  '"'""e''t»0'  man  ^ 

Hnf  K     i^  1°  """■«  a  something  to  himself 
fSneJ"    "''"  ""'^  '"""•  ■»»  homS^„;i 

And  even'hisboneslong  laid  >vithin  the  crave 

VanisW?.''!"  °^"!f  8'?r'=  i'-'elf  shall^' 

Into  Ue^'n.i  '"/"''  ^""''  '"°"'  »"d  void, 
imo  u  e  unseen  forever,  —  1 11  that  hour 

Hy  8°  den  work  in  which  I  told  a  ,  u,h  ' 
Ihat  stays  the  rolling  Ixionian  wheel 

"ptckV"  '""^^'^  ringlet'snak'e,  and 

Shan'T,'"'  '°"'  '■'""'  »"'  immortal  hell. 
Shall  su,„   :   ay.  surely  :   then  it  fail. 

And  perishes  as  I  must ;  for  O  Thou 
YeS?ft  '"■''«•  divine  TranouilH.y 
Who  f.1.  ."'^  ^^  V*"^  ^'^^  °*'»>e  wi«, 
Whhou     "  ''  1  "'"'  *"='"«  '•^  ^^on  art 
Howb^iVVu  P'"',"''^  ^"d  without  one  pain. 

Or  soon  or  h-'J^  '1'°"  '""^'^  ">"*'  ^e  m"ne  ' 
,     ^°°'\  °'^  'a'e.  yet  out  of  season,  thus 

win -^  *"'"  '"'•y  '*°°  "'«  «>  'hey 
Thus-thua :  the  soul  flies  out  and  dies  in  the 


TJ/JS  GOLPiC.\    SUPPEJt, 


at 


Sh^hillll'l^*  ^"'^.*  *''«  knife  Into  his  side : 
She  heard  h.m  raging,  heard  him  fall ;  ran 

Beat  breast,  tore  hair,  cried  out  upon  her- 

Tha''t''s'hlli''l"''' '"  ''"*y  '°  »'''»>  'hriek'd 

him^        ^*°' '°  "'"  ''™  •''"='<•  fe"  on 

ClaspM.  kiss'd"  him,  waU'd :   he   answer'd, 
'".     J    Care  not  thou  I  ' 

"•'yduty?  Whatisduty>  Fare  thee  well  I " 


THE  GOLDEN  SUPPER. 
^j[This  poem  ts  founded  upon  a  story  in  Boccac- 
sistercS^m/'h'  Jf  *"'  "hose  cousin  and  foster- 

L  funVv   "nVaHL" ^  ^'^^^  sometimes  toTlinrfor 
?-'".!."     }"'!*' '^«  nnifnfr  for  a  marriage  f  but 

•  t*^;,  rsffnT'-  "  .''^  appro.ncf.es  the 
""iifiss  to  It  completes  th.-  tale  ' 

•  *  »" 

'f     •ui    he   ...ves  the  eirent  to 


he  bre, 
Event,  a. 

• 

He  flit<i 
ro 
Poor 


.-.Ij, 


•;'w   »;>-■  rush'd  a>r.  :    the 


But  cast  a  parting  glance  at  me.  yoH  saw 

had  **^  "continue."    Wd*' he 

One  golden  hour —  of  triumph  shall  I  sav  ? 
Solace  at  least -before  he  left  hil  homr 

^"hfs  1°"  ''*'*  '""  ''''"  '"  *'""  ''°"'  of 
He  moved  thro'  all  of  it  majestically - 

now  -""'      """*  '""''  ""»«  -  but 

Whether  they  wir,  his  lady-,  marriage- 

pr  prophet's  of  them  in  his  fantasy 
Inever  ask'd  :  but  Lionel  and  the  girl 
fetrhi*''^'  \"d  our  Julian  came'^again 
aack  to  his  mother's  house  amone  the  oilmen. 

tK'y'^^'°°"''  ""  ^tainrSSd 
The  whole  land  weigh'd  him  down  as  ^tna 

Wm,M  tr'  °'"  Mythology :  he  would  go, 
Would  leave  the  land  forever,  and  h.-d  eone 
Surely,  but.for  a  whisper  "Go  not  yet  ^• 
Some  warning,  and  divinely  as  it  seem'd 
By  that  which  follow'd  -  but  of  thfsTde^m 
As  of  the  visions  that  he  told-, he  event 
Glanced  back  upon  them  in  his  after  We 
And  partly  made  them  -  tho'  he  knew  h  ^ot. 

'^"''hw -''*  "*^''' ''"''  *°"'d  "°'  'o"''  •■»' 

^°  ""moon"""""  ■  ''"*'  ^''^  ''»*  eleventh 
After  their  marriage  lit  the  lover's  Bay, 

^""'founi-"'''  '°"  ""  °'"  °^  "<■«•  hut 
AU  softly  as  his  mother  broke  it  to  him- 
A  crueller  reason  than  a  crazy  ear 
For  that  low  knell  tolling  his  lady'dead- 

7uls"e:  "  '**'"  days'^ without  a  ' 

^"  ""  deld''''*  *"*  '""'  •""*  P'°nounced  her 
And  so  they  bore  her  (for  in  ru'ian's  land 
They  never  nail  a  dumb  he?    „     "   .  f^) 
Bore  her  free-faced  to  thefrec^.     o    -^l.^ 
A  ( <1  laid  her  m  the  vault  of  htr  ow-  !;in. 

^''hal^i'*''"-  "°'«^^  '><-•'■"««  and 
^°*  ''tee  ''^'"''°''^"°'"  from  the  mountain 
And  leave  the  name  of  Lover's  .Leap :  not 

K^hT  ,'^.1!''*,"'"«  "rthe  whisper  now, 
for  thf  •  "  '^^'°-'  ■  ^'">  «^ 

0  love,  I  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long. 

r»ni  r";."","  '  «"  .do«^  into  the  grave, 

1  will  be  all  alone,  with  all  I  love, 

wore""'  °"  ""'   "P"'     ^^^   «  b»  np 


t,  echoing  in  ear  and 

nee  at  me,  yoH  saw, 
"concinue.  "     Wtll,  he 

r  triumph  shall  I  gay  ? 
re  he  left  his  home. 

n  him  in  that  hour  of 

it  majestically  — 
ite  to  the  close  —  but 

hia  lady's  marriage- 

1  his  fantasy, 
snel  and  the  girl 
■  Julian  came  again 
ouse  among  the  pines. 
,  the  mountains  and 

d  him  down  as  /Etna 

y :  he  would  go, 
srever,  and  h,?d  gone 
er  "Go  not  >et,'^' 
inely  as  it  seem'd 
—  but  of  this  I  deem 
e  told  —  the  event 
Ti  in  his  after  life, 
-tho' he  knew  it  not. 

id  would  not  look  at 

t,  when  the  eleventh 

he  lover's  Bay, 
le  tolling  bell,  and 

ne  out  of  life,  but 

broke  it  to  him  — 
crazy  ear, 
;  his  lady  dead  — 
ree  days  without  a  ' 

lad  pronounced  her 

■in  Ju'ian's  land 

hes:  u;-.  if,  elm), 
frecaii  .  p'  -orj ,  .^f^ 
of  fif.  0-, 

di<; ;  Iii-iinereand 

from  the  mountain 

Lover's  .Leap :  not 

he  whisper  now, 
"  This,  I  stay'd 

m  for  so  long, 
into  the  grave, 
1  I  love, 
.    She   is  his  np 


T//£  GOLDEI^  .'.  'rppER. 


The  dead  returns  to  me,  and  I  go  down 
I  o  kiss  the  dead.  ' 

„ .  The  fancy  stirr'd  him  so 

HO  rose  and  went,  and  entering  the  dim 

vault. 
And,  making  ther.  a  sudden  light  beheld 
All  round  about  hin.  that  which  all  will  be 
the  light  was  Init  a  (lash,  and  went  aeain. 
I  hen  at  tht  far  cnj   >t  the  vault  he  saw 
Hi*  lad>  with  tiij  111  .onlight  on  her  face  ; 
Her  breast  a-(  in  a  shadow-prison,  bars 
Ot  Mick  a.,  I  bands  of  silver,  which  the  moon 
fttruLk  fio,  ,  .in  open  grating  overhead 
High  .11  the  wai:,  and  all  the  rest  of  her 
I'rown  din  the  gloom  and  horror  of  the  vault. 

"  It  jas  my  wish,"  he  said,  "to  pass,  to 

To  rest,  to  be  with  her- till  the  great  day 
i^eal  don  us  with  that  music  which  rights alK 

"thlre"^  "' '"  ''^"^■"  ^""^  ""leeling 
Down  in  the  dreadful  dust  that  once  was  man, 
jJiist,  as  he  .said,  that  once  was  loving  hearts. 
Hearts  that  had  beat  with  such  a  love  „ 

mine  — 
Not  such  as  mine,  no,  nor  for  such  as  her— 
He  softly  put  his  arm  about  her  neck 

death       '"°''  *'*'*"  °"'^^'  *'"  •*«'?'"» 
And  silence   made  him  bold  — nay,  but  I 

wrong  him,  ■" 

He  reverenced  his  dear  lady  even  in  death ; 
Bm,  placing  his  true  hand  upon  her  heart. 

^deaX""    "''''"  "**  "°*"'*^'  "  no'  even 

'^'"'£}gh{'^'**°""  "•■*''"«'«'*'''«. 
His  dreams  had  come  again.    "  Do  I  wake  or 

sleep  r 
Or  am  I  made  immortal,  or  my  love 
Mortal  once  more  ? "    It  beat  -  the  heart  - 

It  beat : 
Faint-  but  it  beat :  at  which  his  own  began 
To  pulse  with   such  a  vehemence  that  it 

drown  d 
The  feebler  motion  underneath  his  hand 
But  when  at  last  his  doubts  were  satisfied, 
He  raised  her  softly  from  the  sepulchre. 
And,  wri,  ,  ,ng  her  all  over  with  (he  cloak 

Setting  awhile  to  rest,  but  evermore 
Holding  his  golden  burthen  in  his  arms, 
^o  bore  her  thro'  the  solitary  land 
Back  to  the  mother's  house  where  she  was 


•75 

At  once  began  to  wander  and  to  wail 

back*'""  *"'  *  '*"*'  ^""  ""'"  ^'""^  ■"* 

sfll'i'"'''.  • '"?  ""V"  V  •  ''"'  ^'""e'  was  away 
wLr'*  '°**'"'^  vftiish'd,  none  knew 

"  He  ^^»^^e  out,"  she  wept,  "and  goes" 
^''''  borlJ'"^  something,  yet  wan  nothing, 

Ye7l'^r,'/?,t'7'?«  mind,  but  shatter'd  nerve. 
Vet  haui.ting  Julian,  as  her  own  reproof 
At  some  precipitance  in  her  burial. 

"O  v.^  n^nV'""*"  [.'■"''  V>''  ''ad  retum'd. 
O  yes,  and  you,"  she  said,  "and  none  bi 


you. 


but 


There  the  good  mother's  kindly  minister- 


"IR, 
With  haff  a  r.;.»v.i'- ,__t: .... 

ask'd"^     '  ■  ''^"*'^  *"  *y*  "*** 

•■Where?"  till  the  things  familiarto  heryouth 
Had  made  a  silent  answer  :  then  she  spoke 
Here  !  and  how  came  I  here  ?  "  and  lea?nhfg 

(They  told  h?r  somewhat  rashly  as  I  think) 


For  you  have  given  me  life  and  love  again, 
AnH  """«''"   y.o"  yourself  shall  tell  liinl  of  it. 
And  you  shallgive  me  back  when  he  returns.' 
Stav  then  a  little."  answer'd  Julian.  "  here 
And  fcee|,  yourself,  none  knowing,  to  youf- 

And  I  will'do  your  will.     I  may  not  stay, 
No.  not  an  houi  ;  but  send  me  notice  olMiiin 
When  he  returns,  and  then  will  I  return, 
And  I  will  make  a  solemn  dfferiiig  of  you 
"  A^ITt^^I  T-       -'^"d.fcintly  sheSeplfed! 
kn^"         "'"'        •  ^'^'^  none  shall 

R■?;^an^T*  ••""'"'  ""'=''  =*  '"'^«'  'o  be  known. 

both"        '*  '^'"  "^^  *"^  '""^'^  ""='" 

'^n'^a'J^'j^f  house  had  known  the  loves  of 

Had  died  almost  to  serve  them  any  way. 

An^  f^  ""^  '^"^  "^^  *"'e  and  solitary 
And  then  he  rode  awar  :  but  after  this. 
An  hour  or  two,  Camilla's  travail  came 
Upon  heT,  and  that  day  a  boy  was  bom. 
Heir  of  his  face  and  land,  to  Lionel 

Aind  thus  our  lonely  lover  rode  away. 
And  pausing  at  a  hostel  in  a  marsh, 
There  fever  seized  upon  him :  myself  was 

tnen 
Travelling  that  land,  and  meant  to  rest  an 

hour  ; 
And  sitting  down  to  such  a  base  repast. 
It  makes  me  angry  yet  to  speak  of  It  - 
Th»l    a  gfoaning  overhead,  and  climb'd 
Themoulder'd  stairs  for  everything  was  vile) 
And  m  a  loft,  with  none  to  wait  on  him,      "^ 
Found,  as  it  seem'd,  a  skeleton  alone, 
Ravin|  of  dead  men's  dust  and    beating 


A  dismal  hostel  in  a  dismal  land, 
A  flat  malarian  world  of  reed  and  rush  I 
But  ttiere  from  fever  and  ""'  "a"  "'  h'  — 
Sprang  up  a  friendship  that'mayVe'lp'usyet. 
For  while  we  roam'd  along  the  dreahrcokst, 

A    J    u  '''*  drearier  story  of  his  life  • 

Fn,7;i  .?'  !'!u'°''^'l?"'*  '^onor'd  Lionel, 
Found  tha   the  sudden  wail  his  lady  made 
Dwelt  ,n  his  fancv  :  did  he  know  her  worth. 
Her  beauty  ev?n?  should  h;  not  be  taught, 


•M 


976 


THE  GOLDEN  SUPPER. 


^li: 


Ev'n  by  the  price  that  others  set  upon  it, 
'I'he  value  of  that  jewel  he  had  to  guard  ? 

Suddenly  came  her  notice  and  we  past, 
I  with  our  lover  to  his  native  Bay. 

This  love  is  of  the  brain,  the  mind,  the 

soul  : 
That  makes  the  sequel  pure  ;  tho'  some  of 

us 
Beginning  at  the  sequel  know  no  more. 
Not  such  am  I :  and  yet  I  say,  the  bird 
'l'h.it  will  not  hear  my  call,  however  sweet. 
But  if  my  neighbor  whistle  answers  him  — 
What  matter  ?  there  are  others  in  the  wood. 
Yet  when  I  saw  her  (and  I  thought  him 

crazed, 
Tho'  not  with  such  ti  craziness  as  needs 
A  cell  and  keeper),  those  dark  eyes  of  hers  — 
Oh  !  such  dark  eyes  1  and  not  her  eyes  alone, 
But  all  from  these  to  where  she  touch'd  on 

earth. 
For  sOch  a  craziness  as  Julian's  seem'd 
No  less  than  one  divine  apology. 

So  sweetly  and  so  modestly  she  came 
To  greet  us,  her  young  hero  in  her  arms  ! 

Kiss  him,"  she  said.     "  Vou  gave  me  life 
again. 
He,  but  for  you,  had  never,  seen  it  once. 
His  other  father  you  I    Kiss  him,  and  then 
Forgive  him,  if  his  name  be  Julian  too." 

Talk  of  lost  hopes  and  broken  heart  1  his 
own 
Sent  such  a  flame  into  his  face,  I  knew 
Some  sudden  vivid  pleasure  hit  him  there. 

But  he  was  all  the  more  resolved  to  go. 
And  sent  at  once  to  Lionel,  praying  him 
By  ihat  great  love  they  both  had  borne  the 

dead. 
To  come  and  revel  for  one  hour  with  him 
Before  he  left  the  land  forevermore  ; 
And  then  to  friends  —  they  were  not  many — 

who  lived 
Scatteringly  about  that  lonely  land  of  his, 
And  bade  them  to  a  banquet  of  farewells. 

And  Julian  made  a  solemn  feast ;  I  never 
Sat  at  a  costlier ;  for  all  round  his  hall 
From  column  on  to  column,  as  in  a  wood. 
Not  such  as  here  —  an  equatorial  one, 
Great  garlands  swung  and  blossom'd ;  and 

beneath. 
Heirlooms,  and  ancient  miracles  of  Art, 
Chalice  and   salver,  wines   that,    Heaven 

knows  when. 
Had  suck'd  the  fire  of  some  forgotten  sun. 
And  kept  it  thro'  a  hundred  years  of  gloom. 
Vet  glowing  in  ,-,  hcsrt  of  ruby  -cups 
Where  nymph  and  god  ran  ever  round  in 

gold  — 
Others  of  glass  as  costly  — some  with  gems 
Movable  and  resettable  at  will. 
And   trebling  all  tlie  rest  in    value  — Alt 

heavens  I 
Why  need  I  tell  you  all  ?  —  suffice  to  say 


That  whatsoever  such  a  house  as  his, 
And  his  was  old,  has  in  it  rare  or  fair 
Was  brought  before  the  guest :  and  they,  the 

guests, 
Wonder'd  at  some  strange  light  in  Julian':, 

eyes 
(I  told  you  that  he  had  his  golden  hour). 
And  such  a  feast,  ill-suited  as  it  seem'd 
To  such  a  time,  to  Lionel's  loss  and  his. 
And  that  resolved  self-exile  from  a  land     • 
He  never  would  revisit,[such  a  feast 
So  rich,  so  strange,  and  stranger  ev'n  thau 

rich. 
But  rich  as  for  the  nuptials  of  a  king. 

And  stranger  yet,  at  one  end  of  the  hall 
Two  great  funereal  curtains,  looping  down. 
Parted  a  little  ere  they  met  the  floor. 
About  a  picture  of  his  lady,  taken 
Some  years  before,  and  falling  hid  the  frame. 
And  just  above  the  parting  was  a  lamp : 
So  the  sweet  figure  folded  round  with  night 
Seem'd  stepping  out  of  darkness  with  a  smile. 


•  we  ate 


Well  then  —  our  solemn  feast  • 

and  drank. 
And   might  — the    wines    being    of  such 

nooleness  — 
Have  jested  also,  but  for  Julian's  eyes. 
And  something  weird  and  wild  about  it  all : 
What  was  it  ?  for  our  lover  seldom  spoke. 
Scarce  touch'd  the  meats  ;  but  ever  and  anon 
A  priceless  goblet  with  a  priceless  wine 
Arising,  show'd  he  drank  beyond  his  use  ; 
And  when  the  feast  was  near  an  end,  he  said  : 

"  There    is    a    custom    in    the    Orient, 

friends  — 
I  read  of  it  in  Persia  —  when  a  man 
Will  honor  those  who  feast  with  him,  he 

brings 
And  shows  them  whatsoever  he  accounts 
Of  all  his  treasures  the  most  beautiful. 
Geld,  jewels,  arms,  whatever  it  may  be. 
This  custom  —  " 

_.  ^       Pausing  here  a  moment,  all 

1  he  guests  broke  m  upon  him  with  meeting 

hands 
And  cries  about  the  banquet  —  "  Beautiful  1 
Who  could  desire  more  beauty  at  a  feast  ?  " 

The  lover  answer'd,  "  There  is  more  than 
one 
Here  sitting  who  desires  it.    Laud  me  not 
Before  my  time,  but  hear  me  to  the  close. 
This  custom  steps  yet  further  when  the  guest 
Is  kwed  and  honor'd  to  the  uttermost. 
For  after  he  has  shown  him  gems  or  gold, 
He  brings  and  sets  before  him  in  rich  guise 
That  which  is  thrice  as  be.uitiliil  as  these. 
The  beauty  that  is  dearest  to  his  heart  — 
'  O  my  heart's  lord,   would  1  could  show 

you,'  he  says. 
'  Ev'n  my  heart  too.'  And  I  propose  to-night 
To  show  you  what  is  dearest  to  my  heart, 
And  my  heart  too. 

"  But  solve  me  first  a  doubt. 


h  a  house  as  his, 
in  it  rare  or  fair 
lie  guest :  and  they,  tlie 

range  light  in  Julian'^ 

ad  his  golden  hour), 
suited  as  it  seem'd 
onel's  loss  and  his, 
f-exile  from  a  land 
iit.fsuch  a  feast 
nd  stranger  ev'n  than 

ptialsofaking. 

tone  end  of  the  hall 
irtains,  looping  down, 
y  met  the  floor, 
i  lady,  taken 
id  falhng  hid  the  frame, 
jrting  was  a  lamp : 
Ided  round  with  night 
f  darkness  with  a  smile. 

lolemn  feast  —  we  ate 

irines    being    of  such 

for  Julian's  eyes, 
and  wild  about  it  all : 
lover  seldom  spoke, 
ats  ;  but  ever  and  anon 
h  a  priceless  wine 
ank  beyond  his  use  ; 
;s  near  an  end,  he  said  : 

item    in    the    Orient, 

-  when  a  man 

0  feast  with  him,  he 

soever  he  accounts 
2  most  beautiful, 
hatever  it  may  be. 


ng  here  a  moment,  all 
pon  him  with  meeting 

inquet  —  "  Beautiful  1 
e  beauty  at  a  feast  ?  " 

"  There  is  more  than 

es  it.    Laud  me  not 
ear  me  to  the  close, 
"ui-ther  when  the  guest 

0  the  uttermost. 

1  him  gems  or  gold. 
Fore  him  in  rich  guise 
s  be.uiliiul  as  these, 
.rest  to  his  heart  — 
would  1  could  show 

iind  I  propose  to-night 
learest  to  my  heart, 

solve  me  first  a  doubt. 


tHE  GOLDEif  SlfPPER. 


in 


I  knew  a  man,  nor  many  years  ago  ; 
He  had  a  faithful  servant,  one  who  loved 
His  master  more  than  all  on  earth  beside. 
He  falling  sick,  and  seeming  close  on  death, 
His  master  would  not  wait  until  he  died, 
But  bade  his  menials  bear  him  from  the  door, 
And  leave  him  in  the  public  way  to  die. 
I  knew  another,  not  so  long  ago. 
Who  found  the  dying  servant,  took  him 

home. 
And  fed,  and  cherish'd  him,  and  saved  his 

life. 
I  ask  you  now,  should  this  first  master  claim 
His  service,  whom  does  it  belong  to?  him 
Who  thrust  him  out,  or  him  who  saved  his 

life  ?" 

This  question,  so  flung  down  before  the 

guests. 
And  balanced  either  way  by  each,  at' length 
When  some  were  doubtful  how  the  law  would 

hold, 
Was  handed  over  by  consent  of  all 
To  one  who  had  not  spoken,  Lionel. 

Fairspeech  was  his,  and  delicate  of  phrase. 
And  he  beginning  languidly  —  his  loss 
Weigh'd  on  him  yet  — but  warming  as  he 

went. 
Glanced  at  the  point  of  law,  to  pass  it  by, 
Affirming  that  as  long  as  either  lived, 
By  all  the  laws  of  love  and  gratefulness, 
The  service  of  the  one  so  saved  was  due 
All  to  the  saver  —  adding,  with  a  smile. 
The  first  for  many  weeks  —a  semi-smile 
As  at  a  strong  conclusion  —  "  body  and  soul 
And  life  and  limbs,  all  his  to  work  his  will." 

Then  Julian  made  a  secret  sign  to  m» 
To  bring  Camilla  down  before  them  all 
And  crossing  her  own  picture  as  she  came. 
And  lookint  as  much  lovelier  as  herself 
Is  lovelier  than  all  others  —on  her  head 
A  diamond  circlet,  and  from  under  this 
A  veil,  that  seem'd  no  more  than  gilded  air, 
Flying  by  each  fine  ear,  an  Eastern  gauze 
With  seeds  of  gold  —so,  with  that  grace  of 

hers. 
Slow-moving  as  a  wave  against  the  wind. 
That  flings  a  mist  behind  it  in  the  sun  — 
And  bearing  high  in  arms  the  mighty  babe, 
1  heyounger  JuRan,  who  himself  was  crown'd 
With  roses,  none  so  rosy  as  himself — 
And  over  all  her  babe  and  her  the  jewels 
Of  many  generations  of  his  house 
Sparkled  and  flash'd,  for  he  had  decked  them 

out 
As  for  a  solemn  sacrifice  of  love  — 
So  she  came  in  :  —  1  am  long  in  telling  it, 
I  never  yet  beheld  a  thing  so  strange, 
cad,  sweet,  and  strange  together  —  floated 

in, — 
While  all  the  guests  in  mute  amazement 

rose, — 
And  slowly  pacing  to  the  middle  hall. 
Before  the  board,  there  paused  and  stood,  her 

breast 
Hard-heaving,  and  her  eyes  upon  her  feet, 


Not  daring  yet  to  glance  at  Lionel. 

But  him  she  carried,  him  nor  lights  nor  feast 

Dazed  or  amazed,  nor  eyes  of  men ;  who 

cared 
Only  to  use  his  own,  and  staring  wide 
And  hungering  for  the  gilt  and  je  well'd  world 
About  him,  look'd,  as  he  is  like  to  prove. 
When  Julian  goes,  the  lord  of  all  he  saw. 

"  My  guests,"  said  Julian  :  "  you  are  hon- 
or'd  now 
Ev'n  to  the  uttermost :  in  her  behold 
Of  all  my  treasures  the  most  beautiful. 
Of  all  things  upon  earth  the  dearest  to  me" 
Then  waving  us  a  sign  to  seat  ourselves, 
Led  his  dear  lady  to  a  chair  of  state. 
And  I,  by  Lionel  sitting,  saw  his  face 
Fire,  and  dead  ashes  and  all  fire  again 
Thrice  in  a  second,  felt  him  tremble  too, 
And  heard  him  muttering,  "  So  Hke,  so  like  ; 
She  never  had  a  sister.     I  knew  none. 
Some  cousin  of  his  and  hers  —  O  God,  so 

like !  " 
And  then  he  suddenly  ask'd  her  if  she  were. 
She  shook,  and  cast  her  eyes  down,  and  was 

dumb. 
And  then  some  other  question 'd  if  she  came 
From  foreign  lands,  and  still  she  did  not 

speak. 
Another,  if  the  boy  were  hers:  but  she 
To  all  their  queries  answer'd  not  a  word. 
Which  made  the  amazement  more,  till  one 

of  them 
Said,  shuddering,  "  Her  spectre  1 "   But  his 

friend 
Replied,  in  half  a  whisper,  "  Not  at  least 
The  spectre  that  will  speak  if  spoken  to. 
Terrible  pity,  if  one  so  beautiful 
Prcve,  as  I  almost  dread  to  find  her,  dumb  I " 

But  Julian,  sitting  by  her,  answer'd  all : 
'  She  is  but  dumb,  Ibecause  in  her  you  see 
That  faithful  servant  whom  we  spoke  about. 
Obedient  to  her  second  master  now ; 
Which  will  not  last.     I  have  here  to-night  a 

guest 
So  bound  to  me  by  common  love  and  loss  — 
What  I  shall  I  bind  him  more  ?  in  his  behalf, 
Shall  I  exceed  the  Persian,  giving  him 
That  which  of  all  things  is  the  dearest  to  me, 
Not  only  showing?   and  he  himself  pro- 
nounced 
That  my  rich  gift  is  wholly  mine  to  give. 

"  Now  all  be  dumb,  and  promise  all  of  you 
Not  to  break  in  on  what  I  say  by  word 
Or  whisper,  while  I  show  you  all  my  heart." 
And  then  began  the  story  of  his  love 
As  here  to-day,  but  not  so  wordily  — 
The   passionate  moment  would  not  suffer 

that  — 
Past  thro'  his  visions  to  the  burial ;  thence 
Down  to  this  last  strange  hour  in  his  own 

hall ; 
And  then  rose  up,  and  with  him  all  his  guests 
Once  more  as  by  enchantment;  all  but  be, 
Lionel,  who  fain  had  risen,  but  fell  again, 
And  sat  as  if  in  chains  —  to  whom  ke  said : 


"78 


The  golden  supper. 


"  ''' wf  "^  ^*  ^^^'  "^  *=*>"*'"'  for  your 
And  were  it  only  for  the  giver's  sake, 
And  tho  she  seems  so  like  the  one  you  lost. 
Yet  cast  her  not  away  so  suddenly. 

I  leave  this  "land  forever."    Here  he  ceased. 

A  "^u"  '^'''"8  li's  dear  lady  by  one  hand. 
And  bearing  on  one  arm  the  nob!    babe. 
He  slowly  brought  them  both  to  l.ionel. 
And  there  the  widower  husband  and  dead 
wife 

Rush'd  each  at  each  with  a  cry,  that  rather 

seem'd 
For  some  new  death  than  for  a  life  renew'd  ; 
At  this  the  very  babe  began  to  wail; 


At  once  they  tum'd,  and  caught  and  brouBht 
hini  in  " 

To  their  charm'd  circle,  and.  half  killing  him 
With  kisses,  round  him  closed  and  clasnt 

again.  ^ 

But  Lionel,  when  at  last  he  freed  himself 
trom  wife  and  child,  and  lifted  up  a  face 
AH  over  glowing  with  the  sun  of  life, 
And  love,  and  boutidless  thanks  —  the  sight 

of  this 

So  frighted   our  good  friend,  that  turning  to 

me 
And  saying,  "  It  is  over :  let  us  go  "  — 
Ihere  were  our  horses  ready  at  the  doors  — 
We  bade  them  no  farewell,  but  mounting 

He  past  forever  from  his  native  land ; 
And  I  with  him,  my  Julian,  back  to  mine. 


I; ; 


md  caught  and  brought 

le,  and,  half  killing  him 
lim  closed  and  claspt 

last  he  freed  himself 
and  lifted  up  a  face 
I  the  sun  of  life, 
less  thanks  —  the  sight 

1  friend,  that  turning  to 

er:  let  usgo"  — 
;  ready  at  the  doors  — 
rewelf,  but  mounting 

lis  native  land ; 
ulian,  back  to  mine. 


lii 


lat 


Th 
Pa 

Ha 
Th 

Un 
Flc 

Slu 
We 

Ig 

Th( 
Th( 
Loi 

Wh 
Hu, 

Ant 

Wh 


lov 


But 
As  : 
A  c< 
Divi 
Hav 
Imp 
Sha( 
All( 
Men 

As  V 
Shal 

Dot 


at  the 
By  A 


ADDITIONAL     POEMS, 


ips^SwsSSEsSBSSSIte 


TIMBUCTOO* 

"Deep  In  that  lion-haunted  inland  Hes 
A  mystic  city,  goal  of  high  emprise." 

CHAPMAN. 

I  STOOD  upon  the  Mountain  ^hich  o'er- 

looks 
The  narrow  seas,  whose  rapid  interval 
Parts  Afric  from   green    Europe,  when  the 

Sun 
Had  fall'n  below  th'  Atlantic,  and  above 
The  silent  heavens  were  blench'd  with  faery 

light,  ' 

Uncertain  whether  faery  light  or  cloud. 
Flowing  Southward,  and  the  chasms  of  deep, 

deep  blue 
Slumber'd  unfathomable,  and  the  stars 
Were  flooded  over  with  clear  glory  and  pale. 
I  gazed  upon  the  sheeny  coast  beyond. 
There  where  the  Giant  of  M  Time  infix'd 
The  limits  of  his  prowess,  pillars  high 
Long  time  erased  from  earth :  even  as  the 

Sea 
When  weary  of  wild  inroad  buildeth  up 
Huge  mounds  whereby  to  stay  his  yeasty 

wa  ■'s. 
And  muci  I  mused  on  legends  quaint  and 

old 
Which  whilome  won  the  hearts  of  all  on 

earth 

Toward  their  brightness,  ev'n  as  flame  draws 

air; 
But  had  their  being  in  the  hean  of  man 
As  air  is  th'  life  of  flame  :  and  thou  wert  then 
A  centred  glory-circled  memory, 
Divmest  Atalantis,  whom  the  waves 
Have  buried  deep,  and  thou  of  later  name. 
Imperial  Eldorado,  roof 'd  with  gold : 
Shadows  towhich.despite  all  sho"ks  of  change, 
All  on-set  of  capricious  accident. 
Men  clung  with  yearning  hope  which  would 

not  die. 
As  when  in  some  great  city  where  tho  walls 
bhake,  and  the  streets  with  ghastly  faces 

thronged. 
Do  utter  forth  a  subterranean  voice, 

.*..,*  ?°^'!?  ??''=''  obtained  the  Chancellor's  Medal 
at  the  Cambridge  Commencement,  MDCCCXXIX. 
By  A.  Tbnnvson,  of  Trinity  CoUege. 


Amone  the  inner  columns  far  retired 
At  midnight,  in  the  lone  Acropolis, 
Before  the  awful  genius  of  the  place 
Kneels  the  pale  Priestess  in  deep  faith,  the 

while 
Above  her  head  the  weak  lamp  dips  and 

winks 
Unto  the  fearful  summoning  without : 
Nathless  she  ever  clasps  the  marble  knees. 
Bathes  the  cold  hand  with  tears,  and  gazeth 

on 
Those  eyes  which  wear  no  light  but  that 

wherewith 
Her  fantasy  informs  them. 
„.  ,  ,  Where  are  ye, 

Ihrones  of  the  Western  wave,  fair  Islands 

green  ? 
Where  are  your  moonlight  halls,  your  cedam 

glooms, 
Ihe  blossoming  abysses  of  your  hills? 
Your  flowering  capes,  and  your  gold-sanded 

bays 
Blown  round  with  happy  airs  of  odorous 

winds  ? 
Where  are  the  infinite  ways,  which,  seraph- 
trod, 
Wound  through  your  great  Elysian  solitudes. 
Whose  lowest  deeps  were,  as  with  visible 

love. 
Filled  with  Divine  effulgence,  circumfused, 
Howing    between    the    clear  and  polished 

stems. 
And  ever  circling  round  their  emerald  cones 
In  coronals  and  glories,  such  as  gird 
The  unfading  foreheads  of  the  Saints   in 

Heaven  ? 
For  nothing  visible,  they  say,  had  birth 
In  that  blest  ground,  but  it  was  played  about 
With  Its  peculiar  glory.    Then  I  raised 
My  voice  and  cried,  "  Wide  Afric,  doth  thy 

Sun 
Lighten.,  thy  hills  enfold  a  cit"  as  fair 
As  those  which  starred  the  night  o'  the  elder 

world  f 
Or  is  the  rumor  of  thy  Timbuctoo 
A  dream  as  frail  as  those  of  ancient  time  ?  " 
A  curve  of  whitening,  flashing,  ebbing  lightl 
A  rustling  of  white  wings  1  the  bright  de- 
scent 
Of  a  young  Seraph  I  and  he  stood  beside  m« 


38j 

There  on  the  ridge,  and  looked  into  mv  forp 
Z,u  ^"  H""«erable,  shining  orbs    ^ 

brovJ'  ^""^  ^""'passed  round  about  his 


TIMBUCTOO. 


And  odors  rapt  from  remote  Paradise  ? 

ffihlT^  ^',°^''"S  of  his  restless  eyes 
Unon  .^,^^  y="'ty  I  seemed  to  stand  ^''^' 

TV  flach  ,>f  ir_i.»         ' 


As  withVmofe^UrrflTsh'of Ifgrft' 
V^'  '"S'y''^.^''"<:tandkefn 
smallest  grain  that  rfann-.j 


I  saw 
the  dark 


Grew  .,.,.„„,g,y  aistinct  and  keen 

?a?th'*  ^"'"^  ^'^^^  '^^PP" d 

The  mI"'"'''!'^  '*"'"  *n  deep  air, 


^ss«SSS.,^,!SSli|=S 


Of  sepmte  impulse,   but    „,ore  fleet  and 
Than  its  precursor,  till  the  eye  in  vain 

Tt,.     xu-  .  ^ '^"°w  not  if  I  shanft 

These  thmgs  with  accurate  similitn  £ 

*'"■  £r"  ""'""■■  "'=" '?  h,,  ,h., 

r».^j°i"l°u''°l'i°K  "'  «»  «"o«T  stream 

Of  this  dull  world,  like  dusky  worms  which 
Beneath  unshaken  waters  but  af  nnn« 

fielJs      ''^''■''  ''^'■°"g''  ''>e  trackless 
Of  undefined  existence  far  and  free 

Then^first  within  the  South  "fethought  I 
A  wilderness  of  spires,  and  crystal  nil,. 

Of  ethe  '"sLT"'-  "^  '•'"'■^•  °^  ^^"'blances 

Xf  ^'j.^'^'  showenng  circu  ar  abyss 

Of  radiance.    But  the  glory  of  tl,?  nlar„ 

?ra-fgl|:Sdlfe:^here„o 
Might^rest,  stood  open,  and  the  eye  could 

^'^°tufe,°[l/-^'^   --^  --  and 

T"e^noVy^'r,i°^fi^'.r^' "\^^«'"'-°'" 

Ajidgiimp'slof  m^ltl  ,f.f„7"i"i^""g. 


se,  but    more  fleet  and 

till  the  eye  in  vain 
3t  of  swimming  shade 
V  and  alternate  rise 
irc,  would  scan 

now  not  if  I  shape 
xurate  similitude 
,  for  but  dimly  now, 
If-forgotten  dream, 
mental  excellence 
II  may  be  I  entwine 
'present  mind 
5s,  yet  it  seems  to  me 
■ent  of  quick  thought 
e  nature  of  itself 
ss.    Where  is  he,  that 

an  arrowy  stream, 
to  the  fleeting  edge, 
n  pliilosophic  calm 
.ws  which  regulate 
bounding  element? 
long  had  grovelled  in 

e  dusky  worms  which 

ers,  but  at  once 
veiling  day  of  Spring 

glory,  and  aloft 
aring  on  both  sides 

It  wmgs,  which  burn 
1)  mtensest  bloom  • 
erewhile  so  low,  now 

uid  strength 
through  the  trackless 

far  and  free. 

'  South  methought  I 

nd  crystal  pile 
rt,  dome  on  dome, 
lement 
[mperial  height 

Behind 

g  the  dazzling  peaks 
issing  earth's 
airer.     Each  aloft 
;nce  bore  globes 
s.  or  semblances 
alar  abyss 
)ry  of  the  place 

of  burnished  gold, 
1  It  were 
nd  beneath 
rilliance,  where  no 

md  the  eye  could      , 

h   and  valve  and 

ime,  wherefrom 
irment  hung, 
3f  multitudes 
~  if  J  saw 


MLEGIACS. 


These  things  distmctly.  for  my  human  brain 
daggered  beneath  the  vision,  and  thick  night 
^ame  down  upon  my  eyelids,  and  I  fell. 

With  mmistenng  hand  he  raised  me  up  ; 
Tjien  with  a  mournful  and  ineffable  smile. 
Which  but  to  look  on  for  a  moment  filled 
My  eyes  with  irresistible  sweet  tears, 
In  accents  of  majestic  melody, 
Like  a  swoln  river's  gushings  in  still  night 
.."S'u    *'      "0*''"g  music,  thus  he  spake  : 
.here  is  no  mightier  Spirit  than  I  to  sway 
1  he  heart  of  man  ;  and  teach  him  to  attain 
By  shadowing  forth  the  Unattainable  ; 
Aiid  step  by  step  to  scale  that  mighty  stair 
Whose    landing-place  is  wrapt  about  with 

clouds 
Of  glory  of  heaven.*     With  earliest  light  of 
.  Spring, 
-  And  in  the  glow  of  sallow  Summertide, 
And  in  red  Autumn  when  the  winds  are  wild 
With  gambols,  and  when  full-voiced  Winter 

roofs 
The  headland  with  inviolate  white  snow, 
I  play  about  his  heart  a  thousand  ways, 
Visit  his  eyes  with  visions,  and  his  ears 
With  harmonies  of  wind  and  wave  and  wood, 
—Of  winds  which  tell  of  waters,  and  of  waters 
Betraying  the  close  kisses  of  the  wind  — 
And  win  him  unto  me  :  and  few  there  be 
bo  gross  of  heart  who  have  not  felt  and  known 
A  higher  than  they  see  :  they  with  dim  eyes 
Behold  me  darkling.     Lo  1  I  have  given  thee 
1  o  understand  my  presence,  and  to  feel 
My  fulness  :  I  have  filled  thy  lips  with  power 
1  have  raised  thee  nigher  to  the  spheres  of 

heaven, 
Man's  first,  last  home :  and  thou  with  rav- 
ished sense 

Is  perfect'^'*  P*"^*"^''  '=^*°  ^  y°"'  Pa"i"  ">  heaven 


a83 


L'stenest  the  lordly  music  flowing  from 
lie  illimitable  years.     I  am  the  Spirit, 
tie  permeating  life  which  courseth  through 
All  th  intricate  and  labyrinthine  veins 
Of  the  great  vine  of  Fable,  which,  out.spread 
With  growth  of  shadowing  leaf  and  clusters 

rare, 
Reacheth  to  every  corner  under  heaven, 
iJeep-rooted  in  the  living  soil  of  truth  ; 
So  that  men's  hopes  and  fears  take  refuge  in 
The  fragrance  of  its  complicated  glooms. 
And  cool  impeached  twilights.    Child  of  man. 
beest  thou  ^on  river,  whose  translucent  wave, 
forth  issuing  from  the  darkness,  windeth 

through 
The  argent  streets  o'  the  city,  imaging 
1  he  soft  inversion  of  her  tremulous  domes, 
rter  gardens  frequent  with  the  stately  palm 
Herpagods  hung  with  music  of  sweet  bells. 
Her  obelisks  of  ranged  chrysolite. 
Minarets  and  towers  ."    Lo  !  how  he  passeth 
.     .    by. 

And  gulfs  himself  in  sands,  as  not  enduring 
I  o  carry  through  the  world  those  waves,  which 

bore 
The  reflex  of  my  city  in  their  depth. 

0  city  I  O  latest  throne  !  where  1  was  raised 
to  be  a  mystery  of  loveliness 
Un'o  all  eyes,  the  time  is  wellnigh  come 
When  I  must  render  up  this  glorious  home 

1  o  keen  Discovery ;  soon  yon  brilliant  towers 
bliall  darken  with  the  waving  of  her  wand  • 
Darken  and  shrink  and  shiver  into  huts. 
Black  specks  amid  a  waste  of  dreary  sand, 
Low-built,  mud-walled,barbarian  settlements. 
How  changed  from  this  fair  city  !  " 
Tj.  _    .  .  Thus  far  the  Spirit  : 
1  nen  parted  heavenward  on  the  wing  :  and  I 
Was  left  alone  on  Calpe,  and  the  moon 
Had  fallen  from  the  night,  and  all  was  dark  I 


POEMS  PUBLISHED  IN  THE  EDITION  OF  1830, 
AND  OMITTED  IN  LATER  EDITIONS. 


ELEGIACS. 

Low-flowing  breezes  are  roaming  the  broad 
valley  dimmed  in  the  gloaming  : 

Ihro  the  black-stemmed  pines  only  the  far 
nver  shines. 

Creeping  through  blossomy  rushes  and  bow- 
ers of  rose-blowing  bushes, 

Down  by  the  poplartall  r'  .-uletsbabble  andfall. 

Barketn  the shcpheid-dog  cheerly  ;  the  grass- 
hopper  caroUeth  clearly ; 

Deeply  the  turtle  cooes;  shrilly  the  owlet 
halloos ; 

Winds  creep  :  dews  fall  chilly :  in  her  first 
sleep  earth  breathes  stilly  : 

Over  the  pools  in  the  bum  watergnats  mur- 
mur and  mourn. 


Sadly  the  far  kine  loweth :  the  glimmering 

water  outfloweth  : 
Twin  peaks  shadowed  with  pine  slope  to  the 

dark  hyaline. 
Low-throned  Hesper  is  stayed  between  the 

two  peaks  ;  but  the  ISfaiad 
Throbbing  in  wild  unrest  holds  him  beneath 

m  her  breast. 
The  ancient  poetess  singeth  that  Hesperus 

all  things  bringeth. 
Smoothing  the  wearied  mind  :  bring  me  my 

love,  Rosalind. 
Thou  comest  morning  and  even  ;  she  cometh 

not  morning  or  even. 
False-eyed   Hesper,  unkind,  where   is  my 

sweet  Rosalind  ? 


iil:: 


'<n 


tHr„:r  L^!!„'!f:'^----- ---- 


(  ! 


AND  THE 


'WHY, 


1  AM  any  man's  suitor, 
If  any  will  be  my  tutor: 
borne  say  this  life  is  pleasant. 

home  thmk  it  speedeth  fast. 
In  twie  there  is  no  present. 
In  eternity  no  future, 

in  eternity  no  past. 

Who  w'l^^r;11I"y'  *f  *"■;  ^°'"'  we  die, 
WHO  will  riddle  me  the  Aow  and  the  wAj>  f 

The  bulrMsh  nods  unto  its  brother. 

Whal'^s'h'fh''  ""^'T'u'^  "=»>  °'her  : 
What  IS  It  they  say  ?  what  do  they  there  ? 

''  'no°tSa'r:?  '"'"*  ^""^  ^^^  -"'^  - 

'^''  cbudTflyr"'''  ^''"'  ^"^  »'>''  "Hht 

Who  will  riddle  me  lhe^.«rand  the  why  ? 


I  A  sign!  and  if  a  bolt  of  fire 
Would  rive  the  slumberous  summer  noon 
While  I  do  pray  to  thee  alone, 
Think  my  belief  would  stronger  grow  I 
Is  not  my  human  pride  brought  fow7 

,|;^&?ia-?ffi^i^egrownP 
And  faith  in  thee  ?    Men  pass  me  by  • 

I  Chnstians  with  happy  cou^n.enances^- 
And  children  all  seem  full  of  thee  1 
And  women  smile  with  saintlike  glances 
Like  thine  own  mother's  when  she  bowed 

AnH  IV  ^^'^/P-''''*  ">  "lei.  aloud, 
r^„j    !?}'  ^"'^  P^^«^e  'o  earth  were  born 
Goodwill  to  me  as  well  as  all  - 

nrL^^  °-  'jlf")  '•  '"y  brothers  they  : 

AnH !?  '"fi5-''"''7^  w°'-l'J  of  peace 
And  confidence,  day  after  day  ; 
And  trust  and  hope  till  things  should  cease 
And  then  one  Heaven  receive  us  all        ' 


lit  what^i^Ml'""*''"'  •■  ■'  ?°"  0"  ''°"'ehow  : 
I  feel  th.  ^.'"""'"1?^  ^'"^'^  3"d  »ow  f 
whLt?  son^ethmg;  but  how  and 

'  ''""wh??"'  ''  ''""^what:  but  what  and 

'  Thi'r»'i^"J'"i''^'  somewhat  be  I. 

Tn  iif  i     ^  '"''^  P'Pe'h  -  "  why  ?  why  ?  " 

A^d  Rttl    ■  ""u^  ^i-'^  °"  "^e  °PP°s"e  bough 
how?!"         '^^  *"'•  '^°"'^   "hoV? 

'^"'^  *fwiSht  ""''  '*'"'^'  ^°''"  "'*  '"^""^ 
^"'^  *'nSl"  '*°'' ^  ''°* '  "  ''"=  *''°'«  °f  tbe 

^\yh5Vh^ffr  ?"*  r''''" !:''«  ^'°°d  is  spilt  ? 
What  the  life  is?  where  the  soul  mav  lie  ? 

Tn/Zh'"'"''*^''  \*'t''  ^  ^'eeple  built  :^ 
Whl*  '^fl"^LT"'  ^  chimney-pot  ? 

w.,'^'"-,';"^.^'^  "ne  the  how  and  the  what? 

Who  will  riddle  me  the  what  and  Uie  why  ? 


SUPPOSED  CONFESSIONS 

OP    A    SECOND-RATE    SENSITIVE    MIND  NOT 
IN   UNITY  WITH  ITSELF. 

?feint°  r  TJ^  ^SS'  ''^^^  "ercy  now. 
nSJJ  !i-    r  "•    ^en  say  that  thou 

And  that  my  sin  was  as  a  thorn 
Among  the  thorns  that  girt  thy  brow 

"iinis  extremest  misery 

U»  Ignorance,  I  should  require 


ToToM  ^'^  '°  ""^^^  ="  '°'"'"°"  faith  I 
10  hold  a  common  scorn  of  death  I 
And  at  a  burial  to  hear 
Tnl!'^  creaking  cords  which  wound  and  eat 
Into  i.iy  human  heart,  whene'er  * 

Wrth^rn!.°f,f '''V^'"'  g"^*"'  "°'  fear. 
A  PT  If  nof  ^  "■'  f  "^'^  T^''«  passing  sweit  J 
A  grief  not  uninformed,  and  dull. 

Asis  t'hl  hl"^''°P"i  ?':'^°P«  ««  f"" 
ai    '  J    9'°°'^  ""'b  life,  or  night 
And  a  dark  cloud  with  rich  moonlight 
Th.  r.'^"*  beside  a  grave,  and  see  ^  *" 
X  he  red  small  atoms  wherewith  we 
Are  bu.lt  and  smile  in  calm,  and  say - 

Cllthed  in"'-ir''-'''  ^"^  H"«  sbalf  be 
^lothed  on  with  immortality 

Ai?  .^K°r?"'  '*•?"  ."^^  "00"  of  day. 

All.  that  IS  pass'd  into  the  flowers 
And  into  oeasts  and  other  men 
Fr"nnf    "'^  ^or\^x^A  whirlwind  showers 
OW,°^'"  ^^""\and  all  the  sea 
?h.7fl'''^'  with  sharp  salts,  again 
Shall  fleet  together  all,  and  be 
Indued  with  immortality." 

Thrice  happy  state  again  to  be 
Ihe  trustful  infant  on  the  knee  I 

A  w,°  f  i!?  '^'^  '','"^"  fi"?ers  play 
About  his  mother's  necic,  and  knows 
Nothing  beyond  his  mother's  eyes 

tU  ?°u/1''-'  •^'."'  ^y  "'Sf't  and  day. 
They  heht  his  little  life  ll way  ;      ^' 
He  hatfi  no  thought  of  coming  woes ; 
He  hath  no  care  of  life  or  death, 
bcarce  outward  signs  of  joy  arise. 
^aTJ^J  Spirit%f  ha^pfness  • 
AnH  P^'^!S*  '^I'.^o  inward  is ; 
And  loveth  r.f,  his  intioccnt  heart, 

Wh.  ^^f '^  "''.i'^''  P'««  of  birth, 
E?  th    would  ever  wish  to  dwell. 
Tt=Lr    K"  fo'Jntain  there,  beneath 
Its  salient  springs,  and  fa^  apart, 
Orh^/.K '^*'"'^f°"' on  earth,  ' 
Or  breathe  into  the  hollow  air, 


C0NP£SSI0NS. 

of  fire 

Jerous  summer  noon 
lee  alone, 
Id  stronger  erow  I 
le  broughi  low  ? 
spirit  still  ? 
ree  will 

id  corpse-like  grown? 
',  but  thou, 
len  pass  me  by  ; 
countenances  — 
full  of  thee  1 
i>  saintlike  glances 
r  s  when  she  bowed 
ippy  morn 
mei.  aloud, 
earth  were  born, 
as  all  -~ 
brothers  they  : 
world  of  peace 
after  day ; 
things  should  cease, 
n  receive  us  all. 

ommon  faith  I 
n  of  death  I 

hich  wound  and  eat 
I'hene'er 
h  grief,  not  fear, 
sre  passing  sweet  I 
and  dull, 
lope  as  full 
i  or  night 
icli  moonlight, 
and  see 
erewith  we 
ilni,  and  say  — 
grains  shall  be 
ility 

oon  of  day. 
he  flowers, 
r  men, 

rlwind  showers 
1  the  sea 
Its,  again 
id  be 


to  be 
knee  I 
s  play 
and  knows 
er's  eyes, 
t  and  day, 
way; 

ning  woes ; 
death, 
ly  arise, 
■mess 
is; 

:  heart, 
of  birth, 
1  to  dwell, 
beneath 
apart, 
irth, 
air, 


SUPPOSED  CO^TFESSIONS. 


Whose  chillness  would  make  visible 
Her  subtile,  warm,  and  golden  breath. 
Which  mixing  with  the  infant's  blood. 
Full  fills  him  with  beatitude. 
Oh  I  sure  it  is  a  special  care 
Of  God,  to  fortify  from  doubt, 
To  arm  in  proof,  and  guard  about 
With  triple  mailed  trust,  and  clear 
lielight,  the  infant's  dawning  year. 
Would  that  my  gk    ned  fancy  were 
As  thine,  my  mother,  when  with  brows 
Propped  on  thy  knees,  my  hands  upheld 
In  thine,  I  listened  to  thy  vows, 

For  me  outpoured  in  holiest  prayer 

For  me  unworthy  I  —  and  beheld 

The  mild  deep  eyes  upraised,  that  knew 

The  beauty  and  repose  of  faith. 

And  the  clear  spirit  shining  through. 

Oh  I  wherefore  do  we  grow  awry 

From  roots  which  strike  so  deep?  why  dare 

Paths  in  the  desert  ?    Could  not  I 

Bow  myself  down,  where  thou  hast  knelt, 

To  ih'  earth  —  until  the  ice  would  melt 

Here,  and  I  feel  as  thou  hast  felt  ? 

What  Devil  had  the  heart  to  scathe 

Flowers  thou  hadst  reared  —  to  brush  the  dew 

From  thine  own  lily,  when  thy  grave 

Was  deep,  my  mother,  in  the  clay? 

Myself?    Is  it  thus?    Myself?    Had  I 

So  little  love  for  thee  ?     But  why 

Prevailed  not  thy  pure  prayers?    Why  pr?" 

To  one  who  heeds  not,  who  can  save 

But  will  not  ?    Great  in  faith,  and  strong 

Against  the  grief  of  circumstance 

Wert  thou,  and  yet  unheard  ?    What  if 

Thou  pleadest  still,  and  seest  me  drive 

Through  utter  dark  a  full-sailed  skiff, 

Unpiloted  i'  the  echoing  dance 

Of  reboant  whirlwinds,  stooping  low 

Unto  the  death,  not  sunk  !  I  know 

At  matins  and  at  evensong. 

That  thou,  if  thou  wert  yet  alive. 

In  deep  and  daily  prayers  wouldst  strive 

To  reconcile  me  with  thy  God. 

Albeit,  my  hope  is  gray,  and  cold 

At  heart,  thou  wouldest  murmur  still - 

"  Bring  this  lamb  back  into  thy  fold, 

My  Lord,  if  so  it  be  thy  will." 

Wouldst  tell  me  1  must  brook  the  rod, 

-And  chastisement  of  human  pride  ; 

That  pride,  the  sin  of  devils,  stood 

Betwixt  me  and  the  light  of  God  I 

That  hitherto  I  had  defied, 

.•\nd  had  rejected  God  —  that  Grace 

Would  drop  from  his  o'erbrimming  love, 

As  manna  on  my  wilderness, 

If  I  would  pray— that  God  would  move 

And  strike  the  hard,  hard  rock,  and  thence, 

•Sweet  in  their  utmost  bitterness, 

Would  issue  tears  of  penitence 

Which  would  keep  green  h.opc's  life.    Alas  I 

1  think  that  pride  hath  now  no  place 

Or  sojourn  in  me.    I  am  void, 

Dark,  formless,  utteriy  destroyed. 

Why  not  believe  then  ?    Wliy  not  yet 
Anchor  thy  frailty  there,  where  man 
Hath  moored  and  rested  ?    Ask  the  sea 


•«5 


At  midnight,  when  the  crisp  slope  waves 

After  a  tempest,  rib  and  fret 

The  broad-imbasdd  beach,  why  he 

Slumbers  not  like  a  mountain  tarn? 

Wherefore  his  ridges  are  not  curis 

And  ripples  of  an  inland  meer? 

Wherefore  he  moaneth  thus,  nor  can 

Draw  down  into  his  vext'd  pools 

All  that  blue  heaven  which  hues  and  paves 

Ihe  other?     I  am  too  foriorn, 

Too  shaken  :  my  own  weakness  fools 

My  judgment,  and  my  spirit  whirls. 

Moved  from  beneath  with  doubt  and  fear. 

"Yet,"  said  I,  in  my  morn  of  youth. 
The  unsunned  freshness  of  my  strength. 
When  I  went  forth  in  quest  of  truth, 

It  13  man's  privilege  tc  doubt, 
If  .so  be  that  from  doubt  at  length, 
Truth  may  stand  forth  unmoved  of  change. 
An  image  with  profulgent  brows,  • 

And  perfect  limbs,  as  from  the  storm 
Of  running  fires  and  fluid  range 
Of  lawless  airs  at  last  stood  out 
This  excellence  and  solid  form 
Of  constant  beauty.     For  the  Ox 
Feeds  in  the  herb,  and  sleeps,  or  fills 
The  hornt'd  valleys  all  about. 
And  hollows  of  the  fringed  hills 
In  summerheats,  with  placid  lows 
Unfearing,  till  his  own  blood  flows 
About  his  hoof     And  in  the  flocks 
The  lamb  rejoiceth  in  the  year, 
And  raceth  freely  with  his  fere. 
And  answers  to  his  mother's  calls 
From  the  flowered  furrow.     In  a  time, 
Of  which  he  wots  not,  run  short  pains 
1  hrough  his  warm  heart :  and  then,  from 

whence 
He  knows  not,  on  his  light  there  falls 
A  shadow;  and  his  native  slope 
Where  he  was  wont  to  leap  and  climb. 
Floats  from  his  sick  and  filmed  eyes. 
And  something  in  the  darkness  draws 
His  forehead  earthward,  and  he  dies. 
Shall  men  live  thus,  in  joy  and  hope 
As  a  young  lamb,  who  cannot  dream. 
Living,  but  that  he  shall  live  on  ? 
Shall  we  not  look  into  tne  laws 
Of  life  and  death,  and  things  that  seem, 
And  things  that  be,  and  analyze 
Our  double  nature,  and  compare 
All  creeds  till  we  have  found  the  one. 
If  one  there  be  ?  "    Ay  me  !  I  fear 
All  may  not  doubt,  but  everywhere 
Some  must  clasp  Idols.    Vet,  my  God, 
Whom  call  I  Idol  ?    Let  thy  dove 
Shadow  me  over,  and  my  sins 
Be  unremembered,  and  thy  love 
Enlighten  me.     O  teach  me  yet 
Somewhat  before  the  heavy  clod 
Weighs  on  me,  and  the  busy  fi-et 
Of  that  sharp-headed  worm  begins 
In  the  gross  blackness  underneath. 

O  weary  life  I  O  weary  death  I 
O  spirit  and  heart  made  desolate  1 
0  damned  vacillating  state ! 


H 


a86 


THE  BURIAL  OF  LOVE.  -  TO  -^.^SONGS. 


r\ 


v< 


THE  BURIAL  OP  LOVE. 
His  eyes  in  eclipse, 

I  he  light  of  his  hopes  unfed. 

Mute  his  tongue, 
,„..,"'*  bow  unstrung 
With  the  tears  he  hatli  shed 
Backward  drooping  his  gracefullead. 
.  Love  IS  dead: 

„"'*  'ast  arrow  is  sped  • 
He  hath  not  another  dart  • 
R~'i^  ')'m  to  his  dark  deathbed  • 
Bury  him  in  the  cold,  cold  heart  -  ' 
Love  is  dead. 

O  truest  love  !  art  thou  forlorn. 
And  unrevenged  ?  thy  pleasant  wiles 

Shifn  ".?'  '*"u^  'hi"e  innocent  joy? 
Shan  hollow-hearted  apathy.     ^ 

With  languor  of  most  hateful  smiles. 

For  ever  write,  ^ 

In  the  withered  light 
Of  the  tearless  eye. 
An  epitaph  that  all  may  spy? 
No  I  sooner  she  herself  shall  die. 

For  her  the  showers  shall  not  fall, 
u  H  ""^""^  '""  s'"ne  that  shineth  to  all  • 

Nor  .hi    • '  ^'^i"  ^^^^  ^''3"  not  spring. 
Til   T  '■""'!:'  ""^  """^  'he  sweet  Sirds  sine 
TiU  Love  have  his  full  revenge  ^' 


^VATf P  J"ljet,l  dearest  name  I 
If  to  love  be  life  alone, 
Divmest  Juliet, 
I  love  thee,  and  live  ;  and  vet 
Fnu"*  """'"rned  is  like  the  fragrant  flame 
Folding  the  slaughter  of  the  sacrffice 
.-    yered  to  gods  upon  an  altar-thrnni.  • 
C^  ''"">  "pted  at  thine  eves  ' 

Changed  mto  gre,  and  blown  about  with  sighs. 


L'/HF.K'ooming  light 
Of  middle  night 
W,v,»  e      ^°  *^?'*'  ^''tl  white, 

^""'""BShtt^TaTd-'-^^'*-' 

ForshehaS^S;;cf;;^^Seepgr,ve 
Th-    u-.   4'one  she  is  there  :         ^^PB^^e. 
The  white  clouds  drizzle :  her  hairfalls  loose : 
w«.  .         ^^^  shoulders  are  bare  • 
«W  tears  are  mixed  with  the  beaded  d?w8. 


II. 

Death  standeth  by; 

She  will  not  die  ; 
CI,.,     .     With  glazed  eye 
She  looks  at^her^^rave:  she  cannot  sleep; 

Qi,-  «.,        ^''^  maketh  her  moan  • 
She  cannot  speak:  she  can  only  ;eep. 
TK.  .I.-  1    '^°'^  ^''«  Will  not  hope 
The  thick  snow  falls  on  her  ,1?ke  by  flake 

Ihe^dull  wave  mourns  d'^wn  the 

The  world  wj^not  change,  and  her  heart  will 


SONG. 

I. 

Thb  lintwhite  and  the  throstlecock 
"'vevo'.ces  sweet  and  clear; 
All  in  the  bloomed  May. 

Il',7/'-°n' the  blosmy  brere 
Call  to  .ne  fleeting  year. 
If  that  he  would  them  hear 
And  stay. 

Qi!^  ij  u  '  °"^  *°  beautiful 
Should  have  so  dull  an  ear  1 

i: 

But  thou  art  deaf  as  der.th  ;        ^ 
«rL    "* V  '"  '"e  bloomid  May 
When  thy  light  perisheth^" 
1  hat  from  thee  issueth, 
Our  life  evanisheth  : 
O,  stay  I 

Sh^nli^'  "P*  *°  cruel-dumb 
tohould  have  so  sweet  a  breath  J 

III. 

Fair  year,  with  brows  of  royal  love 
Thou  comest,  as  a  king, 

All  in  the  bloomfd  May. 
Thy  golden  largess  fling,       ' 
And  longer  hear  us  sing ; 
though  thou  art  fleet  of  wine 
Yet  stay.  *' 

Alas     that  eyes  so  full  of  light 
Should  be  so  wandering  I 

IV. 

Thy  locks  are  all  of  sunny  sheen 
In  rings  of  gold  yronn«,* 
w      4 '"1  the  bloomed  May. 
Wepri'theeuassnoton;      ' 
If  thou  dost  leave  the  sun, 
delight  IS  with  thee  gone. 

TK      ^'J^^y  ■ 

We  pn  thee  pass  not  on. 

'  "  His  crispfc  hair  in  rinps  was  yronne  " 

CljAUCER,  h-nisrh^s  Tale, 


When 

When 

When 
When 

Never, 


ras. 


ethby; 
die  ; 
eye 

she  cannot  sleep; 

her  moan : 

can  only  weep, 

lot  hope. 

her  .lake  by  flake, 

e  mourns  down  the 

50,  and  her  heart  will 


SONG—NOTHING  WILL  DIE. -ALL  THINGS  WILL  DIE.       287 


throstlecock 
and  clear; 
oni^d  May, 
my  brere 
year, 
era  hear 

eautirul 
an  ear  i 


children  call, 
1  der.th ; 
m^d  May, 
iheth 
ith. 


uel-dumb 
t  a  breath  I 


royal  love 

idd  May. 
ng. 
ng;    . 
of  wing, 

1  of  light 
igl 


y  sheen 


id  May, 


n; 
sun, 


thy  feres. 


yronne." 


Tale. 


SONG. 


Every  day  hath  its  night ': 

Every  night  its  mom  : 
Thorough  dark  and  bright 
Winged  hours  are  borne ; 
Ah  I  welaway  1 
Seasons  flower  and  fade  ; 
Golden  calm  and  storm 

Mingle  day  by  day. 
There  is  no  bright  form 
Doth  not  cast  a  shade  — 
Ah  I  welaway  I 

II. 

When  we  laugh,  and  our  mirth 

Apes  the  happy  vein. 
We  're  so  kin  to  earth, 
Pleasaunce  fathers  pain  — 
Ah  I  welaway  I 
Madness  laugheth  loud : 
Laughter  bringeth  tears : 
Eyes  are  worn  away 
Till  the  end  of  fears 
Cometh  in  the  shroud, 
,  Ah  1  welaway  I 

III. 

•All  is  change,  woe  or  weal ; 
Joy  is  Sorrow's  brother ;  * 
Grief  and  gladness  $teal 
Symbols  of  each  other : 
Ah  I  welaway  I 
Larks  in  heaven's  cope 
Sing  :  the  culvers  mourn 
All  the  livelong  day. 
Be  not  all  forlorn  : 
Let  as  weep  in  hope  — 
Ah  I  welaway  I 


NOTHING  WILL  DIE. 

When  will  the  stream  be  aweary  of  flowing 

Under  my  eye  ? 
When  will  the  wind  be  aweary  of  blowing 

Over  the  sky  ? 
When  will  the  clouds  be  aweary  of  fleeting  ? 
When  will  the  heart  be  aweary  of  beating? 

And  nature  die  ?         ' 
Never,  O  never  I  nothing  will  die  ; 

The  stream  flows, 

The  wind  blows, 

The  cloud  fleets, 

The  heart  beats, 
Nothing  will  die. 

Nothing  will  die ; 

Ail  things  will  change 
Through  eternity. 

'T  is  the  world's  winter ; 
Autumn  and  summer 
Are  gone  long  ago. 
Earth  is  dry  to  the  centre, 
But  spring  9.  new  comer  — 


A  spring  rich  and  strange. 

Shall  make  the  winds  blow 
Round  and  round. 
Through  and  through, 

Here  and  there, 
•  Till  the  air 
And  the  ground 
Shall  be  filled  with  life  anew. 
The  world  was  never  made  ; 
It  will  change,  but  it  will  not  fade. 
So  let  the  wind  range ; 
For  even  and  mom 
Ever  will  be 
Through  eternity. 
Nothing  was  born  ; 
Nothing  will  die ; 
All  things  will  change. 


ALL  THINGS  WILL  DIE. 

Clearly  the  blue  river  chimes  in  its  flowing 

Under  my  eye ; 
Warmly  and   broadly   the  south  winds  are 
blowing 
Over  the  sky. 
One  after  another  the  white  clouds  are  fleet- 
ing ; 
Every  heart  this  May  morning  in  joyance  is 
beating 
Full  merrily  ; 
Yet  all  things  must  die. 
The  stream  will  cease  to  flow  ; 
The  wind  will  cease  to  blow  ; 
The  clouds  will  cease  to  fleet; 
The  heart  will  cease  to  beat ; 
For  all  things  must  die. 

AH  things  must  die. 
Spring  will  come  nevermore.      •  • 

O,  vanity  I 
Death  waits  at  the  door. 
.See  1  our  friends  are  all  forsaking 
The  wine  and  merrymaking. 
We  are  called  —  we  must  go. 
Laid  low,  very  low, 
In  the  dark  we  must  lie. 
The  merry  glees  are  still ; 
The  voice  of  the  bird 
Shall  no  more  be  heard. 
Nor  the  wind  on  the  hill. 
O,  misery  1 
Hark  I  death  is  calling 
While  I  speak  to  ye. 
The  jaw  is  falling, 
The  red  cheek  paling, 
The  strong  limbs  failing ; 
Ice  wi  th  the  warm  blood  mixing ; 
The  eyeballs  fixing. 
Nine  timss  g.-.e3  the  passing  bell 
Ye  merry  souls,  farewell. 

The  old  earth 
.    Had  a  birth. 
As  all  men  know 
Long  ago. 
And  the  old  earth  must  die, 


a88 


HERO  TO  LEA^nER.-rUE  MySTIC.^THE  GRASSHOPPE-, 


I'i! 


^■l^  ^ 

^■i  I 

^^^H 

^^H' 

i 

^^^^^^Kir               }cLi. 

n^ 

^^■f    '  II 

■ 

i^^^K       '     -^H 

^H 

^1 

■■II  ■ 

1 

So  let  the  warm  winds  range, 
And  the  blue  wave  beat  the  shore : 
r  or  even  and  mom 
Ye  will  never  see 
Through  elemitv. 
All  things  were  bom. 
Ye  will  come  nevermore, 
*  or  all  things  must  die. 


HERO  TO  LEANDER. 

0  GO  not  yet,  my  love  I 
I  he  night  is  tlark  and  va.st ; 

AnH  .h"  ""'°"  '"r 'l'"?  ^"  ''"ven  above, 
And  the  waves  climb  high  and  fast, 
u,  KISS  me,  kiss  me,  once  again. 
Lest  thy  kiss  should  be  the  last  I 

0  kiss  me  ere  we  part ; 
Grow  closer  to  my  heart  I 

My  heart  is  warmer  surely  shan  the  bosom 
of  the  mam. 
Oioy  I  O  bliss  of  blisses  I 

My  heart  of  hearts  art  thou. 
Come  bathe  me  with  thy  kisses, 

My  eyelids  and  my  brow. 
Hark  how  the  wild  rain  hisses, 
And  li.e  loud  sea  roars  below. 

Thy  heart  beats  through  thy  rosy  limbs. 
So  gladly  doth  it  stir  ;  ' 

Thme  eye  in  drops  of  gladness  swims. 

m''rr*h  ^  ""*  '*''"'  *''*  P'easant 

Thy  locks  are  dripping  balm  ; 
ihou  Shalt  not  wander  hence  to-night. 

1  Ml  stay  thee  with  my  kisses. 
io:".'ght  the  roaring  brine 

Wm  rend  thy  eolden  tresses  ; 

«7-fi  ?"?"  "'"^  t"«  morrow  light  i 

Will  be  both  blue  and  calm  ; 
And  the  billow  will  embrace  thee  with  a  kiss 
as  soft  as  mine. 
No  Western  odors  wander  ' 

On  the  black  and  moaning  sea. 
And  when  thou  art  dead,  Leander 

My  soul  must  followthee  1 
Ogonot  j'et,  my  love  ! 

Thy  voice  is  sweet  and  low  ; 
Tlie  deep  salt  wave  breaks  in  above 

1  hose  marble  steps  below. 
The  turret-slairs  are  wet 

That  lead  into  the  sea. 
Leander  I  go  not  yet. 
The  pleasant  stars  have  set  : 
O,  go  not,  go  not  yet, 

Or  I  will  follow  thee  I 


The  stil  serene  abstraction  :  he  hath  felt 
lie  yanifes  of  after  and  before  ; 
Albeit,  his  spirit  and  his  secret  heart 
■vu.  ,^'""  expei-'ences  of  converse  lives 
1  he  linked  woes  of  many  a  fiery  cl.nn^e 
Had  purified,  and  chastened,  aid  Sfrce 
Always  there  stood  before  him.  nigl    a  d  chv 
Of  wayward  vary-colored  circumst. ,?«       ^• 
Ihe  imnenshable  oresences  sercn. 

niif  I   '7"'"u"'  '"""•  '"■  "'•■"se,  or  .sound 
Dim  shadows  but  unwaning  presences 
I'ourfacdd  to  four  corner,  of  the  skv 
And  yet  again,  three  shadows,  frontinE  one 
One  forward,  one  respetl.mt,  three  b  f  one  • 
And  yet  again,  again  an.!  evermore, 

fW.h,i'^°'^^''" .'''"«.""'-  "^"t  oni;  seemed 
One  shadow  m  the  midst  of  a  great  lieh      ' 
One  reflex  from  eternity  on  time,         ^    ' 
One  mighty  countenance  of  perfect  calm 
Awful  with  most  invariable  eyes  ' 

t  or  him  the  silent  congregated  hours 
Daughters  of  time,  divinely  tall,  bcnwlh 

0?^1,^^*.^°'"','"' •"'""«  (""=  innocent  fight 
witl/a°ll      •"""''  "''""8''  ^"'^  "'^""8h 

nnt'Iu""*i^''K"  ?^  low-embow.;d  eld) 
Uphe  d  and  ever  hold  aloft  the  cloud 

iwi  k-  !^?°^^'"J*'-''""K  ""  eithet  gate  of  life 
Both  birth  and  death  :  he  in  the  centre  fixf' 
Saw  far  on  each  side  through  the  grated  uates 
Most  pale  and  clear  and  lovely  dfstancJ:    " 
He  often  lying  broad  awake,  and  yet 
ni^illti^'"^  '^'T  "•*  ^°^y'  3"d  apart 
T  m»  fl    "  *'"'  PP^"  '"'l  «■'".  hath  heard 
aZmI'^^  '"  "'^  .""'*'^'«  °f  the  night, 
And  all  things  creeping  to  a  day  of  dooi^ 
How  could  ye  know  him  .>    Ye  were  yet  wTt hi., 
Ihe  narrowercirc le:  he  had  wellnigh  readied 
Ihe  last,  which  with  a  region  of  wTiite Xme 
Pure  without  heat,  into  a  larger  air  ' 

Upburning,  and  an  ether  of  black  blue. 
Investeth  and  mgirds  all  other  lives 


THE  GRASSHOPPER. 


THE  MYSTIC. 

Angels  have  talked  with  him,  and  showed 

Him  vhrones  : 
Ye  knew  him  not ;  he  was  not  one  of  ye. 
Ye  scorned  him  with  an  undiscerning  scorn  : 
Ye  could  not  read  the  marvel  in  his  eye, 


Voice  of  the  summer  wind, 
Joy  of  the  summer  plain. 
Life  of  the  summer  hours, 
xr*''?,l^'^arly,  bound  along. 
No  lahoiuhou  as  poets  feign 
(Shame  fall  'em  they  are  deaf  and  blind) 
But  an  insect  lithe  and  strong,  '' 

Bowing  the  seeded  summer  ffowers. 
i'rove  their  falsehood  and  thy  quarrel 

Vaulting  on  thine  airy  feet. 
Uap  thy  shielded  sides  and  carol, 
carol  clearly,  chirrup  sweet 
inou  an  a  maiied   wafrior  in   youth  and 
strength  complete ; 
Armed  cap-a-pie 
Full  fair  to  see  ; 
Unknowing  fear, 
Vndreading  loss, 


1RASSH0PPER. 

straction  :  he  hath  felt 
r  and  before ; 
d  his  secret  heart 
pes  of  converse  lives, 

niany  a  fiery  cliance 
hastened,  and  made  free 
leforehini,  night  and  day,' 
ilored  circumstance 
resences  serene, 
•m,  or  sense,  or  sound, 
iwaning  presences 
rners  of  the  sky  : 

sliadows,  fronting  one 
pedant,  three  but  one'; 

I  and  evermore, 

e  not,  but  only  seemed 
nidst  of  a  great  light,    ' 
iity  on  time, 
ince  of  perfect  calm, 
iriable  eyes, 
ngregaled  hours, 
livinely  tall,  beneath 
(rows,  with  shining  eyes 
de  (the  innocent  light 
ed  through  and  through 

iow-embowiid  eld) 
;I  aloft  the  cloud 
igoneithefgateoflife, 
:  he  in  the  centre  fixt, 
iioiigh  the  grated  gates 
id  lovely  distances, 
iwake,  and  yet 
ody,  and  apart 
and  will,  hath  heard 
iddle  of  the  night, 
?  to  a  day  of  doom. 
11?    Ye  were  yet  within 
!  had  wellnigh  reached 
region  of  white  Hame, 
)  a  larger  air 
er  of  black  blue, 

II  other  lives. 


SHOPPER. 


wind, 
ain, 
ours, 
ilong. 
ets  feign 

ire  deaf  and  blind), 
1  strong, 
nnier  flowers, 
and  thy  quarrel, 
■y  feet, 
i  and  carol, 
a  sweet, 

■nor  in   youth  and 
nplete ; 
pie 

ar, 

ss. 


LOVE,  ,R!nE.  ANU  FOROETFUL^ES..^:,oVE  AND  SOEEOl^,  ,8. 

A    »al!.m*  .......1*    _  ' 


A  gallant  cavalier, 
Sans  f'tur  tt  sant  reprpclu 
In  simlight  and  in  shadow, 
1  ho  Uayard  of  the  meadow. 

»  II. 

I  would  dwell  with  thee, 

Merry  grasshopper. 
Thou  art  so  glad  and  Utt, 

And  as  light  as  air  ; 
If  1(111  hast  no  sorrow  or  tears, 
1  hou  hast  no  compt  of  years, 
No  withered  immortality. 
But  a  short  youth  sunny  and  free. 
Carol  clearly,  bound  along, 

Soon  thy  joy  is  aver, 
A  summer  of  loud  song. 

And  slumbers  in  the  clover. 
What  hast  thou  to  do  with  evil 
In  thine  hour  of  love  and  revel, 
In  thy  heat  of  summer  pride, 
Pushing  the  thick  roots  aside 
■pu    'f  singing  flowerdd  grasses, 
1  hat  brush  thee  with  their  silken  tresses? 
What  hast  thou  to  do  with  evil, 
shooting,  singing,  ever  springing 
In  and  out  the  emerald  glooms, 
l!.ver  leaping,  ever  singing, 
Lighting  on  the  golden  blooms? 

LOVE,  PRIDE,   AND    FORGETFUL- 

NESS. 

Err  yet  my  heart  was  sweet  Love's  tomb. 
Love  labored  honey  busily.  ' 

I  was  the  hive,  and  Love  the  bee. 
My  heart  the  honeycomb. 
One  very  dark  and  chilly  night 
I'ride  came  beneath  and  held  a  light. 

The  cruel  vapors  went  through  all, 
bweet  Love  was  withered  in  his  cell  • 
i-ride  took  Love's  sweets,  and  by  a  spell 
Did  change  them  into  gall ;  *^ 

And  Memory  though  fed  by  Pride. 
Did  wax  so  thin  on  gall. 
Awhile  she  scarcely  lived  at  all. 
What  marvel  that  she  died  ? 


Ihe  day,  the  di.imonded  night, 
I  he  eclio,  feeble  cliild  of  sound, 
Th/r^  '''"!"]"'?  griding  might, 
Thi  vn^.T"'''  j'glUniMg's  starry  Eound, 
X  he  voca  spring  ol  bursting  bloom, 
Th    .*  "  u>      ^"'"'"e'-'s  glowing  birth, 
1  he  troublous  autumn's''sallo»''Bl„o.n 
1  lie  hoarhead  winter  paving  earth 
With  sheeny  white,  are  tull  o(  strange 
Astonishment  and  boundless  change. 

Each  siin  which  fn,m  the  centre  flings 

Urand  music  and  redundant  (ire. 
Ihe  burning  belts,  the  mighty  rings. 

Tli    iT'"'!:'!!''",'"'  planets'  roiling  choir, 
lie  g  obe-filled  arch  that,  cleavllig  air. 
Lost  in  Its  own  eflulgence  sleeps, 
A  '^"'''-■ss  comets  as  they  glare 
And  thunder  through  the  sapphire  deep, 
i"  *«y*a'-d  strength,  and  full  of  strange 
Astonishment  and  boundless  change 


LOST  HOPE. 
You  "st^to^ground  the  hope  which  once  was 

FrnK^^'^  '*"-'  ^'■'"'eyo"'''iarsh  decree  deplore 
EmbalminK  with  sweet  tears  the  vacant  sl,r"ne' 

So  on  an  oaken  sprout 
A  goodly  aconi  grew  ; 

And  hlled  the  cup  with  dew. 


CHORUS 

IN  AN  UNPUBLISHED  DRAMA,  WRITTEN 
VERY  EARLY. 

The  varied  earth,  the  moving  heaven. 

Tk    r  "P  ■  *^*'^  °^  roving  sea, 

Ihe  fountain-pregnant  mountains  riven 

To  shapes  of  wildest  anarchy,  " 
ISysecret  fire  and  midnight  storms 

rhat  wander  round  their  windy  cones, 
■'•je  subtle  life,  the  countless  forms 

Of  living  things,  the  wondrous  tones 
Of  man  and  beast  are  fiill  of  strange 
Astonishment  and  boundless  change 


THE  TEARS  OF  HEAVEN. 

"^^''m^'omr''^*''"^''*'''  ^^'"'^"  '"Kht  till 
In  darkness  weeps  as  all  ashamed  to  weei, 
Because  the  eartfi  hath  made  her  sta°e  foHorn 
^^i  ff/'T°';s'^.'  "^^^  of  unnumbered  ye"  s 

tears,      ^^    ^''^^^"  ^^"'"'  '^''^''  ''^r 

i"n^  llf  "'''"  *"'"/  ^y«  ^°  clear  and  deep. 
And  showering  down  the  glory  of  lightlinie 

'"""ifi'^m^;''''^"'"™  '^-^ '»-"'- 

LOVE  AND  SORROW. 

O  MAIDEN,  fresher  than  the  first  ere^n  l^^-f 
^V„n  w^^ch  the  fearful  springtide  flecks  the 

Weep  not.  Almeida,  that  I  said  to  thee 

?-)ofh  h'T'i  V^'  ¥f  '"y  heart,  for  bitter  grief 
Doth  hold  the  other  half  in  sovranty       ^ 

Yet°  o^W^  '""^T'^  '""  ■"  '°^«'s  crystalline : 
Vet  on  both  sides  at  once   thou  canst  i.ot 


TO  A  LADY  SLEEPING.- SONNETS LOVE. 


390 


Thine  is  the  bright  side  of  my  heart,  and 

thine 
My  heart's  day,  but  the  shadow  of  my  heart. 
Issue  of  Its  own  substance,  my  heart's  night 
1  hou  canst  not  lighten  even  with  thy  light. 
All-powerful  in  beauty  as  thou  art. 
Almeida,  if  my  heart  were  substanceless, 
Ihen  might  thy  rays  pass  through  to  the 

other  side, 
So  swiftly,  that  they  nowhere  would  abide, 
But  lose  themselves  in  utter  emptiness. 
Half-light,  half-shadow,  let  my  spirit  sleep; 
1  liey  never  learned  to  love  who  never  knew 

to  weep. 


TO  A  LADY  SLEEPING. 

,9  THOU  whose  fringed  lids  I  gaze  upon, 

1  hrough  whose  dim  brain  the  wlng6d  dreams 

are  borne, 
Unroof  the  shrines  of  clearest  vision, 
In  honor  of  the  silver-flecked  morn  ; 
Long  hath  the  white  wave  of  the  virgin  light 
Driven  back  the  billow  of  the  dreamful  dark, 
1  hou  all  unwittingly  prolongest  night, 
i  hough  long  ago  listening  the  poisdd  lark. 
With  eyes  dropt  downward  through  the  blue 

serene. 
Over  heaven's  parapet  the  angels  lean. 


SONNET. 

Could  I  outwear  my  present  state  of  woe 
With  one  brief  winter,  and  indue  i'  the  spring 
Hues  of  fresh  youth,  and  mightily  outgrow 
The  wan  dark  coil  of  faded  suffering -- 
Forth  in  the  pride  of  beauty  issuing 
A  aheeny  snake,  the  light  of  vernal  bowers. 
Moving  his  crest  to  all  sweet  plots  of  flowers 
And  watered  valleys  where  the  voung  birds 

sing  ; 
Could  I  thus  hope  my  lost  delight's  renewing, 
I  straightly  would  command  the  tears  to  creep 
From  my  charged  lids ;  but  inwardly  I  weep  ; 
Some  vital  heat  as  yet  my  heart  is  wooing  : 
That  to  itself  hath  drawn  the  frozen  rain 
From  my  cold  eyes,  and  melted  it  again. 


SONNET. 

Though  Night  hath  climbed  her  peak  of 

highest  noon. 
And  bitter  blasts  the  screaming  autumn  whirl, 
AH  night  through  archways  of  the  bridgdd 

pearl. 
And  portals  of  pure  silver,  walks  the  moon. 
Walk  on,  my  soul,  nor  crouch  to  agony. 
Turn  cloud  to  light,  and  bitterness  to  joy. 
And  dross  to  gold  with  glorious  alchemy. 
Basing  thy  throne  above  the  world's  annoy. 
Reign  thou  above  the  storms  of  sorrow  and 

ruth 


That  roar  beneath  ;  unshaken   peace  hath 

won  thee ; 
So  shalt  thou  pierce  the  woven  glooms  of 

truth  ; 
So  shall  the  blessing  of  the  meek  be  on  thee  • 
So  in  thine  hour  of  dawn,  the  body's  youth  ' 
An  honorable  eld  shall  come  upon  thee      ' 


SONNET. 

Shall  the  hag  Evil  die  with  child  of  Good. 
Or  propagate  again  her  loathed  kind, 
Ihronging  the  cells  of  the  diseased  mind. 
Hateful  with  hanging   ch-ieks,  a  withered 

brood, 
Though  hourly  pastured  on  the  salient  blood  ? 
O  that  the  wind  which  bloweth  cold  or  heat 
Would  shatter  and  o'erbear  the  brazen  beat 
Ut  tlieir  broad  vans,  and  in  the  solitude 
UJ  middle  space  confound  them,  and  blow 

back 
Their  wild  cries  down  their  cavern  throats, 

and  slake 
With  points  of  blast-borne  hail  their  heated 

e^ne  I 
So  their  wan  limbs  no  more  might  come 

between 
The  moon  and  the  moon's  reflex  in  the  iilKht. 
Nor  blot  with  floating  shades  the  solar  light. 


SONNET. 

The  pallid  thunder-stricken  sigh  for  gain, 
Down  an  ideal  stream  they  ever  float 
And  sailing  on  Pactolus  in  a  boat. 
Drown  soul  and  sense,  while  wistfully  thev 
strain  ■' 

Weak  eyes  upon  the  glistening  sands  that 

robe 
The  understream.    The  wise,  could  he  be- 
hold 
Cathedraled  caverns  of  thick-ribbdd  gold 
And  branching  silvers  of  the  central  globe. 
Would  marvel  from  so  beautiful  a  sigiit 
How  scorn  and  ruin,  pain  and  hate  could 

flow : 
But  Hatred  in  a  gold  cave  sits  below  ; 
Pleached  with  her  hair,  in  mail  of  areent 

Shot  into  gold,  a  snake  her  forehead  clips. 
And  skins  the  color  from  her  trembling  lips 


LOVE. 

I. 

Thou,  from  the  first,  unborn,  undying  love. 
Albeit  we  gaze  not  on  thy  glories  iiear, 
Before  the  face  of  God  lidst  breathe  and 

move. 
Though  night  and  pain  and  ruin  and  death 

reign  here. 


OVE. 

anshaken   peace  hath 

the  woven  glooms  of 

'the  meek  be  on  thee; 
vn,  the  body's  youth, 
come  upon  thee. 

nTET. 

e  with  child  of  Good, 
■  loathed  kind, 
the  diseased  mind, 
cheeks,  a  withered 

1  on  the  salient  blood  ? 
bloweth  cold  or  heat 
bear  the  brazen  beat 
id  in  the  solitude 
)und  them,  and  blow 

their  cavern  throats, 

ome  hail  their  heated 

o  more  might  come 

n's  reflex  in  the  night, 
ihades  the  solar  light. 


FET. 

cken  sigh  for  gain, 
hey  ever  float, 
I  in  a  boat, 
while  wistfully  they 

jlistening  sands  that 

!  wise,  could  he  be- 

;hick-ribb^d  gold 
F  the  central  globe, 
icautiful  a  sight 
aain  and  hate  could 

ife  sits  below; 

,  in  mail  of  argent 

her  forehead  clips, 
1  her  trembling  lips. 


''ZZ""^':-"'"'""'  '-^"-^""O-^-TW^^^t  SCO.    ^. 

fOldest.  lik(>  a  irnl^.r.  .> 1..  ^9' 


Thou  foldest,  like  a  golden  atmosphere 
The  very  throne  of  tTie  eternal  God  • 
Passmg  through  thee  the  edicts  of  hi^  fear 

fil'thL'  LTh"'*  '"i"  """/""'  borne  abroad 
Bythejoud  winds,  though  they  uprend  the 

Even  from  its  central  deeps:  thine  emnerv 
Is  over  all ;  thou  wilt  not  brook'eclipTe'^^ 
Thou  goest.  and  retumest  to  Hisl^s^     ' 

The  £ce  of  kll'lf"  1°^'  •=""  '''°°d  above 
ine  silence  of  aU  hearts,  unutterable  Love. 

II. 

7A!^?°»'*',"'"  '\*"  ^'*^°n'.  and  old  age 
Is  but  to  know  thee  :  dimly  we  behnlS^),»« 
Athwart  the  veils  of  evihffi  infold  thee 
We  beat  upon  our  aching  hearts  in  rage; 

Tomb.  •  *''  ^^^"^  ^^^  *°^ld  thy 

rL^'n -"^r*  !?•  ',°"=  P'«"ets  look  upon 
i''?,""Shty  disk  of  their  majestic  sun. 
Ho  lowed  in  awful  chasms  ofwheeline  eloom 
Co'^l"^K  *'"^^'y  d™-  «°  we  ga'e  o/tf lee  • 
OhT rend %°.  '■.^"°-^'"^' ^^i'^-'-obid We. 
?hee  :  '"  '*^'"  =  *"  '"'^"  ^^ore 

Heaven  crieth  after  thee;  earth  waiteth  for 

^'""moTe"'^"''"^^'^  'h>-one,  and  it  shall 
In  music  and  in  light  o'er  land  and  sea. 


StteninJ  M  ^^  ^f"  ^°'  'Ses  and  will  lie 
TTntit  .l^i"P°"  i'"Ke  seaworms  in  his  sleeu 
Until  the  latter  fire  shall  heat  the  deep  ■    ^' 

Tnrn    ""^u^  ,™^"  ^"^  an~els  to  be  seen 
In  roaring  he  shall  rise  and  on  the  surface  die. 

ENGLISH  WAR-SONG. 

-    }y"o  fears  to  die?    Who  fears  to  die ? 

hI  I'' n  1;^5y  •?"«  ^ho  fears  to  die  ? 

He  shall  find  what  he  fears ;  and  none  shall 

p,l^°.V''^  '?'?"  y*'''°  <■««  to  die  ; 

'  de^ve    ""^  ''°'°  °^  '^^  "^"y  'hall 
To  the  man  who  fears  to  die. 

CHORUS. 

Shout  for  England  I 
Ho  I  for  England  I 
George  for  England  t 
Merry  England  I 
England  for  aye  1 


!m 


Jom,  undying  love, 
Y  glories  near, 
didst  breathe  and 

and  ruin  and  death 


III. 

And  now  — methinks  I  gaze  upon  thee  now 
As  on  a  serpent  in  his  agonies  ' 

Awe-stricken  Indians :  what  time  laid  low 
And  crushing  the  thick  fragrant™eeds  he  iTes 
When^he^new  year  wari^-breathdd  on  the 

SS't"f  hPJ'^'' h'""?  ^'■*''  ^^'  P"fP'«  skies, 
^aiis  to  him  by  the  fountain  to  uprise 

Str,?rf rh\"'\P*"8^  °f  a  "«^  birth 
AnH  fn  V  '^°'.^,P.h"es  of  his  convulsed  eyes 
And  in  his  writhings  awful  hues  begin    ^    ' 
To  wander  down  h?s  sable-sheeny  sWes 
Like  light  on  troubled  waters :  from  wflhin 
Ann"  ''^'"^^eth  forth  with  merry  din 
And  from"h''-^K  ' ^"'J J°y a"d  strenVhabides ; 
And  irom  his  brows  a  crown  of  livine  lipht" 

''°'''^d^;rdViSt!''^''-^'^--'^-°^'W 


THE   KRAKEN. 

Below  the  thunders  of  the  upper  deep ; 
Far,  far  beneath  in  the  abys.mal  sea, 

?hri^af,?»i'^if-v^:t-?'-^'^.^'r'^ 

About  his  shadow;  sidesrabovrhim'swen'' 
^^'he'i^°hT'   °^  """'""'"'   growth   and 
And  far  away  into  the  sickly  light, 
from  many  a  wondrous  grot  and  secret  cell 
Unnumbered  and  enormous  polypW  " 

Winnow  with  giant  fins  the  slumbering  green. 


He  ,h.   °V  ^^?''  ^''='"  "°"ch  forlorn 
Tf    K  f.  u  '  ^*'  'be  bread  of  common  scon.  • 
It  sha    be  steeped  in  the  salt,  sauTear        ' 
P,?K '  .''^  "r'^P^  '"  bis  own  salt  tear  • 
it^T.'  ^  ''"""'■  ^^  "e^er  were  born 
Than  to  shame  rterry  England  here. 

Cho.  —  Shout  for  England  I  etc. 

There  standeth  our  ancient  enemy  ; 
I  nn  .f    -f^  shouteth  -  the  ancient  enemv  I 
On  the  ridge  of  the  hill  his  banners  rise  • 
They  stream  like  fire  in  the  skfes  ; 

I'illlr^"'"  ^'°"  °[,^"gland  on  hi^h 
liil  It  dazzle  and  blind  his  eyes. 

Cho.  -Shout  for  England  I  etc. 

Th^\^M"^  '  "'^  ^'°"e  °f  the  earth  are  free  • 
Fnr^»,    ''^  '?  °J'r  «="^'es  is  bolder  than  he  • 
For  where  is  the  hiart  and  strength  of  slaves  > 
I  U?t    ""'VT  " 'be  strength  ofllaves? 

are'freeT  '""  '""""^ '  "^  ^  '^'^''  *« 
Come  along !  we  will  dig  their  graves. 

Cho.  —  Shout  for  England  I  etc. 
There  standeth  our  ancient  enemy  ; 

SD^rln.l"''  '"  ''''i'^  *"b  the  free? 
spur  along !  spur  amain  !  charge  to  the  fieht  • 
hS^'^^^I  '^'^^'■ee  to  the  fighU  "^'"  • 

Shou?/„rV^T  "^England  on  high  I 

aiiout  tor  God  and  our  right  I 

Cho,  —  Shout  for  England  I  eta 


NATIONAL  SONG. 

^u^u*  '*. "°  .'«"d  '•''«  England 
Where'er  the  light  of  day  be; 

There  are  no  hearts  like  English  heart*. 
Such  hearts  of  oak  as  they  be.       ^ 


';    I 


aga  DUALISMS.  — H^E  ARE  FREE.— THE  SEA  FAIRIES. 

There  is  no  land  like  England 

Where'er  the  light  of  day  be  ; 
There  are  no  men  like  Englishmen, 

So  tall  and  bold  as  they  be. 


CHORUS. 

For  the  French  the  Pope  may  shrive  'em, 
For  the  devil  a  whit  we  heed  'em  ; 
As  for  the  French,  God  speed  'em 

Unto  their  heart's  desire, 
And  the  merry  devil  drive  'em 

Through  the  water  and  the  fire. 

FULL    CHORUS. 

Our  glory  is  our  freedom, 
We  lord  it  o'er  the  sea ; 
We  are  the  sons  of  iVeedom, 
We  are  free. 

There  is  no  land  like  England, 

Where'er  the  light  of  day  be  ; 
There  are  no  wives  like  English  wives, 

So  fair  and  chaste  as  they  be. 
There  is  no  land  like  England, 

Where'er  the  light  of  day  be  ; 
There  are  no  maids  like  English  maids, 

So  beautiful  as  they  be. 

Cho.  —  For  the  French,  et?. 


DUALISMS. 

Two  bees  within  a  crystal  flowerbell  rocked, 
Hum  a  lovelay  to  the  west-wind  at  noon- 
tide. 
Both  alike,  they  buzz  together, 
Both  alike,  they  hum  together, 
Through    and    through    the    flowered 
heather. 
Where  in  a  creeping  cove  the  wave  unshockdd 
Lays  itself  calm  and  wide. 
Over  a  stream  two  birds  of  glancing 

feather 
Do  woo  each  other,  cafolling  together. 
Both  alike,  they  glide  together, 

Side  by  side  ; 
Both  alike,  they  sing  together. 
Arching  blue-glossed  necks  beneath  the  pur- 
ple weather. 

Two  children  lovelier  than  Love  adown  the 

lea  are  singing. 
As  they  gambol,  lily-garlands  ev;r  stringing : 
Both  inblosm  white  silk  are  frock^d  : 
Like,  unlike,  they  roam  together 
Undera  summer  vault  of  golden  weather: 
Like,  unlike,  they  sing  together 
Side  by  side, 
MidMay's  dariing  golden  locked. 
Summer's  tanling  diamond  eyed. 


WE  ARE  FREE. 

The  winds,  as  at  their  hour  of  birth, 
Leaning  upon  the  winged  sea. 


Breathed  low  around  the  rolling  earth 
With  mellow  preludes,  "  We  are  free." 

The  streams  through  manjr  a  lilied  row 
Down-carolling  to  the  crispdd  sea, 

Low-tinkled  with  a  bell-like  flow 
Atween  the  blossoms,  "  We  are  free." 


THE  SEA  FAIRIES.* 

Slow  sailed  the  weary  mariners,  and  saw 
Between  the  green  brink  and  the  running 

foam 
White  limbs  unrobed  in  a  crystal  air, 
Sweet  faces,  rounded  arms,  and  bosoms  prest 
To  little  harps  of  gold:  and  while  they  mused, 
Whispering  to  each  other  half  in  fear. 
Shrill  music  reached  them  on  the  middle  sea. 

SONG. 

Whither    away,    whither   away,  whither 

away  ?    Fly  no  more  : 
Whither  away  wi'  the  singing  sail  ?  whith- 
er away  wi'  the  oar  ? 
Whither  away  from  the  high  ereen  field  and 
the  happy  blossoming  shore  ? 
Weary  mariners,  hither  away. 

One  and  all,  one  and  all. 
Weary  mariners,  come  and  play ; 
We  will  sing  to  you  all  the  day  ; 
Furi  the  sail  and  the  foam  will  fall 
From  the  prow  I    One  and  all 
Furl  the  sail  1    Drop  the  oar  ! 
Leap  ashore. 
Know  danger  and  trouble  and  toil  no  more. 
Whither  away  wi'  the  sail  and  the  oar? 
-    Drop  the  oar. 
Leap  ashore. 
Fly  no  more  I 
Whither  away  wi'  the  sail  ?  whither  away 
wi'  the  oar  ? 
Day  and  night  to  the  billow  the  fountain 

calls : 
Down  shower  the  gambolling  waterfalls 

From  wandering  over  the  Tea  ; 
They  freshen  the  silvery-crimson  shells, 
And  thick  with  white  bells  the  clover-hill 
swells 
High  over  the  full-toned  sea. 
Merrily  carol  the  revelling  gales 

Over  the  islands  free  : 
From  the  green  seabanks  the  rose  down 
trails 
To  the  happy  brinim(*d  sea. 
Come  hither,  come  hither  and  be  our  lords, 

For  merry  brides  are  we  ; 
We  will  kiss  sweet  kisses,  and  speak  sweet 
words. 
P  listen,  listen,  your  eyes  shall  glisten 
With  pleasure  and  love  and  revelry  ; 
O  listen,  listen,  your  e.  es  shall  glisten, 
When  the  sharp  clear  twang  of  the  golden 
chords 
Runs  up  the  ridged  sea. 

•  Original  form. 


i  TRIES. 

the  rolling  earth 
les,  "  We  are  free." 
many;  a  lilied  row 
he  crispdd  sea, 
;ll-like  flow 
IS,  "  We  are  free." 


AIRIES.* 

nariners,  and  saw 
ik  and  the  running 

a  crystal  air, 

IS,  and  bosoms  prest 

id  while  they  mused, 

r  half  in  fear, 

n  on  the  middle  sea. 


her   away,   whither 
are  : 

singing  sail  ?  whith- 
r? 

)igh  green  field  and 
ing  shore  ? 
r  away, 
all, 

and  play ; 
the  day ; 
foam  will  fall 
ie  and  all 
>  the  oar  I 
> 

le  and  toil  no  more, 
ail  and  the  oar? 


! 

;ail?  whither  away 

billow  the  fountain 

lolling  waterfalls 
■  the  Tea ; 
y-crimson  shells, 
)ells  the  clover-hill 

led  sea. 
ng  gales 

iks  the  rose  down 

d  sea. 

;r  and  be  our  lords, 

we  : 

s,  and  speak  sweet 

syes  shall  glisten 
'e  and  revelry ; 
:.  es  shall  glisten, 
ang  of  the  golden 


shall 


Ye  will  not.find  so  happy  a  shore. 
Weary  manners  !  all  the  world  o'w 
Oi  fly  no  more  ! 

t?ken'ye,  '"^^'■'^"    ''•  ^"°- 
Danger  and  trouble  and  toil  no  more ; 
Whither  away  ? 
Drop  the  oar  ; 
Hither  away 
Leap  ashore  ; 

wu- u  ^  "°  '"°''^  ~  no  raore  : 
Whither  away,  whither  away,  whither  awav 
with  the  sail  and  the  om?  ^^ 

Oi  piovTtt. 
I. 

All  thoughts,  all  creeds,  all  dreams  are  true 
Ail  visions  wild  and  strange ;  ' 


01  peovTti.  —  SONNET.  —  TO . 


Man  is  the  measure  of  all  truth 

Unto  himself    All  truth  is  chanee 
All  men  do  walk  in  sleep,  and  all  ^  ' 

Fn,  ^7,l  ■'"' '"  "'•^'  "^ey  dream  : 
For  all  things  are  as  they  seem  to  all. 
And  all  things  flow  like  a  stream 


»93 


n. 

There  is  no  rest,  no  calm,  no  pause, 

N^°„' ^""'^  ""^  '"'  "°^  "g'"  n°r  shade. 
Nor  essence  nor  eternal  laws  : 

For  nothing  is,  but  all  is  made. 
Hut  if  1  dream  that  all  these  are. 

Fnr  J?'m -^  '°  ""^  ^°'  J''^'  I  dream  : 
A  i  '  ""u^-^  '*'■«  **  "'ey  seem  to  all, 
And  all  things  flow  like  a  stream 

Argal  —  this  very  opinion  is  only  true  rela- 
lively  to  the  flowing  philosophers. 


POEMS  PUBLISHED  IN  THE  EDITION  OF  i8,, 
AND  OMITTED  IN  LATER  EDITIONS. 


SONNET. 

Mine  be  the  strength  of  spirit  fierce  and  free 

WhhTL^r"''  ''y"  ?«*''"g  down  alonl, ' 

thrown^*™*  '™^"      wherewith  he  was 

tel,"''"  ^?u^ '°""'  ^'P""  ♦''«  echoing  lea  :  - 
Which^with  increasing  might  doth^orw^rd 

^^  ^^'^^tT^  "'^"'  ^"'^  '''"•  *"''  '^^Pe-  and 
And  in  the  middle  of  the  green  salt  sea 
Keeps  his  Dlue  wafers  fresli  for  many  a  mile 

win'  ^-^  It'  ^?^"  ^hich  ever  to  hs  swTy 
Will  win  the  wise  at  once,  and  by  degrees 
May  into  i-ncongenial  spirits  flow  ;  ^ 
Fln'-'J/f      '  ^'■"'  gulf  stream  of  Florida 
T .»  !  <?■;  away  into  the  Northern  seas 
Ihe  lavish  growths  of  southern  Mexico 


lit. 


When,  in  the  darkness  over  me. 

Plant  fh?''"''^"i''^f  """'e  ^''a"  scrape, 
i'lant  thou  no  dusky  cypress-tree, 

R.^/aTT ""'  "''>'  ".P  ^■"•i  doleful  crape, 
But  pledge  me  in  the  flowing  grape 


TO 


Au.  good  things  have  not  kept  aloof. 
Nor  wandered  into  other  ways  ; 
''?ve  not  lacked  thy  mild  reproof, 
Nor  golden  largess  of  thy  praise, 
But  life  IS  full  of  wearv  dava 


Shake  hands,  my  fnend,  across  the  brink 
Of  that  deep  grave  to  which  I  go. 

bhake  hands  once  more  :  I  cannot  sink 
bo  far —far  down,  but  I  shall  know 
iny  voice,  and  answer  from  below 


IV. 

Aiid  when  the  sappy  field  and  wood 

Grow  green  beneath  the  showery  gray. 
And  rugged  barks  begin  to  bud,       ^    ^' 

Mav  "^    damp  holts,  new  flushed  with 
Ring  sudden  laughters  of  the  Jay  ; 
v. 

Then  let  wise  Nature  work  her  will. 
And  on  my  day  the  darnels  crow 

Lome  only  when  the  days  are  sfill, 
An^  fill"''  K^/ds'one  whisper  low. 
And  tell  me  if  the  woodbines  bloWl 

VL 

If  thou  art  blest  my  mother's  smile 
Undimmed,  if  bees  are  on  the  wine: 
fc'r^**'  "^l  '""^"d,  a  little  while, 
1  hat  I  may  hear  the  throstle  sine 
«15  bnaal  song,  the  boast  of  spring. 

vu. 

^"J^rl^tn-*  "°'*?,'""  ^^'■'^h^d  plains 
flf  nnv  i'     "5  "eUs  irtat  fret  the  stones 
(If  any  sense  in  me  remains), 
Thy  words  will  be  ;  thy  cfieerful  tones 
As  welcome  to  my  crumbling  bones. 


Il/I 


»  p. 


•94 


'i    ) 


f  f       ! 


SI 


SONAPA R TE.  —  SONNE  TS.  -  THE  HESPE RIDES. 
BONAPARTE. 


He  thought  to  quell  the  stubborn  hearts  of 
oak, 

Madman  I  — to  chain  with  chains,  and  bind 

with  bands 
That  island  queen  that  sways  the  floods  and 

lands 
From  Ind  to  Ind,  but  in  fair  daylight  woke, 
When  from  her  wooden  walls,  lit  by  sure 

hands. 
With  thunders,  and  with  lightnings,  and  with 

smoke, 
Peal  after  peal,  the  British  battle  broke, 
ijullmg  the  bnne  against  the  Coptic  sands, 
we  taught  him  lowlier  moods,  when  Elsi- 

nore 
Heard  the  war  moan  along  the  distant  sea, 
Kecking  with  shattered  spars,  with  sudden 

fires 
Flamed  over  :  at  Trafalgar  yet  once  more    ' 
We  taught  him  :  late  he  learned  humility 
i'erforce   like  those  whom  Gideon  schooled 
with  briers. 


SONNETS. 


0  BEAUTY,  passing  beauty  I  sweetest  Sweet ! 
How  canst  thou  let  me  waste  my  youth  in 

sighs  ? 

1  enly  ask  to  sit  beside  thy  feet. 

Thou  knowest  I  dare  not  look  into  thine 
eyes. 
Might  I  but  kiss  thy  h^nd  !  I  dare  not  fold 

My  arms  about  thee  —  scarcely  dare  to 
speak. 
And  nothing  seems  to  me  so  wild  and  bold. 

As  with  one  kiss  to  touch  thy  bless<?d  cheek. 
Methinks  if  I  should  kiss  thee,  no  control 

Within  the  thrilling  brain  could  keep  afloat 

The  subtle  spirit.     Even  while  I  spoke, 
T!^  bare  word  ki.ss  hath  made  my  inner  soul 

To  tremble  like  a  lutestring,  ere  the  note 

Hath  melted  in  the  silence  that  it  broke. 

11. 

But  were  I  loved,  as  I  desire  to  be. 
What  is  there  in  the  greit  sphere  of  the  earth, 
And  range  of  evil  between  death  and  birth. 
Ihat  I  should  fear, —if  I  were  loved  by 

thee  ? 
All  the  inner,  all  the  outer  world  of  pain 
Clear  Love  would  pierce  and  cleave,  if  thou 

wert  mine. 
As  T  have  heard  that,  somewhere  in  the  main, 
IT  .h-water  springs  come  up.through  bitter 

brine. 
'T  we.e  joy,  not  fear,  clasped  hand-in-hand 

Witii  thcc. 

To  wai_t  for  death  —  mute  —  careless  of  all 

ills. 
Apart  upon  a  mountain,  though  the  surge 
Of  some  new  deluge  from  a  thousand  hills 
rlung  leagues  of  roaring  foam  into  the  gorge 
Below  us,  as  far  on  as  eye  could  see. 


THE  HESPERIDES. 

"  y*'*P"=™s  and  his  tlauKliters  three, 
That  sing  about  the  goUlen  tree." 

Comus. 

The  North-wind  fall'n,  in  the  new-starr^ 

night 
Zidonian  Hanno,  voyaging  beyond 
Ine  hoary  promontory  of  Soloe 
Past  Thymiaterion,  in  calmed  bays. 
Between  the  southern  and  the  western  Horn. 
Heard  neither  warbling  of  the  nightingale, 
Nor  melody  of  the  Libyan  lotus  flute 
Blown  seaward  from  the  shore  ;  but  from  a 

slope 
That  ran  bloom-bright  info  the  Atlantic  blue, 
Beneath  a  highland  leaning  down  a  weight 
Uf  cliffs,  and  zoned  below  with  cedar  shade, 
Came  voices,  like  the  voices  in  a  dream. 
Continuous,  till  he  reached  the  outer  sea. 

SONG. 

I. 


The  golden  appfe,  the  golden  apple,  the  hal- 
lowed fruit. 

Guard  it  well,  guard  it  warily, 

Singing  airily, 

Standing  about  the  charmed  root. 

Round  about  all  is  mute. 

As  the  snow-field  on  the  mountain-peaks. 

As  the  sand-field  at  the  mountain-foot. 

Crocodiles  in  briny  creeks 

Sleep  and  stir  not :  all  is  mute. 

If  ye  sing  not,  if  ye  make  false  measure. 

We  shall  lose  eternal  pleasure, 

Worth  eternal  want  of  rest. 

Laugh  not  loudly :  watch  the  treasure 

Of  the  wisdom  of  the  West. 

In  a  corner  wisdom  whispers.    Five  and 
three 

(Let  it  not  be  preached  abroad)  iiiake  an 
awful  mystery. 

For  the  blossom  unto  threefold  music  blow- 
eth  ; 

Evermore  it  is  bom  anew  ; 
And  the  sap  to  threefold  music  flowetb. 
From  the  root 
Drawn  in  the  dark. 
Up  to  the  fruit, 

Creeping  under  the  fragrant  bark, 
Liquid  gold,  honeysweet,  thro'  and  thro'. 
Keen-eyed  Sisters,  singing  airily, 
Looking  warily 
Every  way. 

Guard  the  apple  night  and  day, 
Lest  one  from  the  East  come  and  take  it 
away. 


n. 

Father  Helper,  Father  Hesp<>r.«vat<-t,  r^x^v. 

ever  and  aye,  '       '  '  ' 

Looking  under  silver  hair  with  a  silver  eye. 
Father,  twinkle  not  thy  steadfast  .si«ht  ; 
Kingdoms  lapse,  and  climates  chanee.  and 

races  die ; 
Honor  comes  with  mystery 
Hoarded  wisdom  brings  delight 


RIDSS. 
PERIDES. 

dautjliters  three, 
:he  Kolden  tree." 

Comiit. 

I,  in  the  new-starred 

ging  beyond 

of  Soloe 

calmed  bays, 

nd  the  western  Horn, 

;  of  the  nightingale, 

yan  lotus  flute 

lie  shore ;  but  from  a 

nto  the  Atlantic  blue, 
ning  down  a  weight 
)w  with  cedar  shade, 
oices  in  a  dream, 
bed  the  outer  sea. 


olden  apple,  the  hal- 
^arily, 

mdd  root. 
> 

mountain-peaks, 
mountain-foot 
cs 

mute. 

5  false  measure, 
lasure, 

St. 

1  the  treasure 

;st. 

hispers.    Five  and 

I  abroad)  make  an 

•eefold  music  blow- 

r ; 

music  floweth, 


nt  bark, 

thro'  and  thro'. 

B  airily, 


d  day, 

come  and  take  it 


spef :  vatch.  watch 

with  a  silver  eye. 
;adfast  .sit;ht ; 
lates  change,  and 


Number,  tell  them  over  and  number 
How  many  the  mystic  fruit-tree  holda 
Les   the  red  combed  dragon  slumber 
tolled  together  in  purple  folds. 
Look  to  him,  father,  lest  he  wink,  and  the 

golden  apple  be  stol'n  away, 
*or  his  ancient  heart  is  drunk  with  over- 

watchmgs  night  and  day, 
Kound  about  the  hallowed  fruit-tree  curled  — 
bing  away,  sing  aloud  evermore  in  the  wind, 

without  stop,  ' 

Lest  his  scaled  eyelid  drop. 
For  he  is  older  than  the  world. 
If  he  waken,  we  waken, 
Rapidly  levelling  eager  eyes. 
If  he  sleep,  we  sleep. 
Dropping  the  eyelid  over  the  eyes. 
If  the  golden  apple  be  taken, 
1  ho  world  will  be  overwise. 
Five  links,  a  golden  chain,  are  we, 
Hesper,  the  dragon,  and  sisters  three, 
cound  aoout  the  golden  tree. 

III. 

Father  Hesper,  Father  Hesper,  watch,  watcli. 

night  and  day,  ' 

Lest  the  old  wound  of  the  world  be  healdd, 
1  he  glory  unsealed. 
The  golden  apple  stolen  away. 
And  the  ancient  secret  revealed 
Look  from  west  to  east  along  • 
Father,   old  Himala  weakens,  Caucasus  is 

bold  and  .   rong. 
Wandering  waters  unto  Wandering  waters 

call ; 
Let  them  clash  together,  foair  and  fall. 
Out  of  watchings,  out  of  wiles. 
Comes  the  bliss  of  secret  smiles. 
All  things  are  not  told  to  all. 
Half-round  the  mantling  night  is  drawn, 
I'urple  fringed  with  even  and  dawn. 
Hesper  hateth  Phosphor,  evening  hateth 
mom 


kOSALltfD. 


49S 


Sunset-ripened  above  on  the  tree. 

Ihe  world  is  wasted  with  fire  and  sword. 

but  the  apple  of  gold  hangs  over  the  sea 

!•  ive  Imks,  a  golden  chain  are  we, 

Hesper,  the  dragon,  and  sisters  three. 

Uaughters  three, 

Bound  about 

The  gnarled  bole  of  the  charmdd  tree. 

Ihe  golden  apple,  the  golden  apple,  the  hal- 

lowed  fruit. 
Guard  it  well,  guard  it  warily. 
Watch  it  warily, 
Singing  airily, 
Standing  about  the  charradd  root. 


ROSALIND. 

I. 

Mv  Rosalind,  my  Rosalind, 

Mv  frolic  falcon,  with  bright  eyes. 

Stoops  at  all  game  that  wing  the  skies, 

My  Rosalind,  my  Rosalindf 

My  bright  eyed  wild-eyed  falcon,  whither, 

Careless  both  of  wind  and  weather, 

Whither  fly  ye,  what  game  spy  ye. 

Up  or  down  the  streaming  wind  ? 

II. 


slight 


IV. 

Every  flower  and  every  fruit  the  redolent 

Dreath 
Of  this  warm  sea-wind  ripeneth, 
Arching  the  billow  in  his  sleep- 
gut  the  land-wind  wandereth. 
Broken  by  the  highland-steep, 
1  wo  streams  upon  the  violet  deep  ; 
*or  the  western  sun  and  the  western  star. 
And  the  low  west-wind,  breathing  afar, 
Ihe  end  of  day  and  beginning  of  night 
Make  the  apple  holy  and  bnght ; 

West    '^'"'  ''°""'*  *"'^  '"""'  ^^^'^  *°^ 
Mellowed  in  a  land  o.'rest ; 
Watch  it  warily  day  and  nij-ht  ■ 
Ail  good  things  are  in  the  west 
1  ill  mid  noon  the  cool  east  light 
Is  shut  out  by  the  tall  hillbrow; 
But  when  the  full-faced  sunset  yellowly 
btays  on  the  flowering  arch  of  the  bough, 
Ihe  luscious  fruitage  clustereth  mellowly, 
U»lden-kernelled,  golden-cored. 


Th!  T''}  '^'''''?  closest-carolled  strains, 

1  he  shadow  rushing  up  the  sea, 

1  he  lightning  flash  atween  the  rains, 

1  he  sunlight  driving  down  the  lea, 

1  he  leaping  stream,  the  very  wind, 

I  hat  will  not  stav,  upon  his  way, 

lo  stoop  the  cowslip  to  the  plains, 

Is  not  so  clear  and  bold  and  free 

As  you,  my  falcon  Rosalind. 

You  care  not  for  another's  pains, 

Because  you  are  the  soul  of  iov. 

Bright  metal  all  without  alloy 

Life  shoots  and  glances  thro'  your  veins. 

And  flashes  off  a  thousand  ways 

1  hrough  lips  and  eyes  in  subtle  rays. 

Your  hawkeyes  are  keen  and  bright, 

Keen  with  triumph,  watching  still 

lo  pierce  me  through  with  pointed  light; 

Hut  oftentimes  thev  flash  and  glitter 

Ike  sunshine  on  a  dancing  rill. 
And  your  words  are  seeming-bitter, 
bharp  and  few,  but  seeming-bitter 
i  rom  excess  of  swift  delight 

III. 
Come  down,  come  home,  my  Rosalind, 
My  gay  young  nawk,  my  Rosalind  : 
1 00  ong  you  keep  the  upper  skies  ; 
1 00  long  you  roam  and  wheel  at  will ; 
But  we  must  hood  your  random  eyes, 
1  hat  care  not  whom  they  kill. 
And  your  cheek,  whose  brilliant  hue 
Is  so  sparkling-fresh  to  view, 
bome  red  heath-flower  in  the  dew, 
1  ouched  with  sunrise.    We  must  bind 


And  keep  you  fast,  my  Rosalind, 
fast,  fast,  my  wild-eyed  Rosalind, 
And  clip  your  wings,  and  make  you  love: 
When  we  have  lired  you  from  above, 

nf  In^  ^^'"  "''  ^'^'"'  ^y^^y  °'^ 

From  north  to  south  ; 
Will  bind  you  fast  in  silken  cords, 
And  kiss  away  the  bitter  words 
from  off  your  rosy  mouth.* 


SONG. 

Who  can  say 

Why  To-day 

To-morrow  will  be  yesterday ' 

♦Vho  can  tell  ^ 

Why  to  smell 

The  violet  recalls  the  dewy  prime 

Of  youth  and  buried  time .' 

The  cause  is  nowhere  found  in  rhyme. 


SO/^G.  -  KA  TE.  -  SONNE  TS. 


KATE. 

I  KNOW  her  by  her  angry  air, 

Her  bright  back  eyes,  her  bright  black  hair, 

Her  rapid  laughters  wild  and  shrill. 
As  laughters  of  the  woodpecker 

From  the  bosom  of  a  hill. 

'T  is  Kate  —she  sayeth  what  she  will : 
for  Kate  hath  an  unbridled  tongue. 

Clear  as  the  twanging  of  a  harp. 
Her  heart  is  like  a  throbbing  star. 

m^v^'i'^  n°'*'^'^°''"''-  T  I'erhaps  the  following  lines 
.^Xfh''"""'^'?  *°  ""'"'J  as  a  separate  poem  ;  criJi: 

My  Rosalind,  my  l^osalind, 

tJokl,  subtle,  careless  Rosalind, 

Is  one  of  those  who  know  no  strife 

yi  inward  woe  or  outward  fear ; 

To  whom  the  slope  and  stream  of  Life. 

The  hfe  before,  the  life  behind. 

In  the  ear,  from  far  and  near, 

Chnneth  musically  clear. 

My  (alcon-hearted  Rosalind, 

I- ull-sailed  before  a  vigorous  wind. 

Is  one  of  those  who  cannot  weep 

^or  others  woes,  but  overleap 

All  the  petty  shocks  and  tears 

1  h,-U  trouble  life  in  early  years. 

With  a  flash  of  frolic  scorn 

And  keen  delight,  that  never  falls 

Away  from  freshness,  self-upborne 

With  such  gladness  as,  whenever 

I  he  fresh-ftiishing  springtime  calls 

To  the  flooding  waters  cu.jI, 

Young  fishes,  on  an  April  morn. 

Up  and  down  a  rapid  river. 

Leap  the  little  waterfalls- 


Kate  hath  a  spirit  ever  strung 
Like  a  new  bow,  and  bright  and  sham 
„  As  edgps  of  the  scymitar.  ' 

Whence  shall  she  take  a  fitting  mate.? 

for  Kate  no  common  love  will  feel  ■ 
My  woman-soldier,  gallant  Kate, 

As  pure  and  true  as  blades  of  steel. 

Kate  saith  ''the  world  is  void  of  might.  » 
Kate  saith  "  the  men  are  gilded  flies." 
Kate  snaps  her  fingers  at  my  vows; 
Kate  will  not  hear  oflovers'  sighs 
I  would  I  were  an  armdd  knight, 
A  *^'"*°  '°''  well-won  enterprise 
And  wearing  on  my  swarthy  bro'ws 
I  ne  garland  of  new-wreathed  emprise  • 
Tt,    uf  ',"  ^  "^pnient  I  would  pierce       ' 
The  blackest  files  of  clanging  f?Kht, 
And  strongly  strike  to  let?  and  right, 
^"^feaming  of  my  lady's  eyes 

Oh  !  Kate  loves  well  th«  bold  and  fierce  • 
But  none  are  bold  enough  for  Kate, 
She  cannot  find  a  fitting  mate. 


SONNET 

WRITTEN   ON   HEARING  OF  THE   OIJTBREAK 
OF  THE   POLISH   INSl/RKECTION, 

Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  gather  from  afar 
1  he  hosts  to  battle  :  be  not  bought  and  sold 
Arise,  brave  Poles,  the  boldest  of  the  bold  : 
^^"   themT     ^°"''  '''°"  ^'^*<^'''es  -  fling 
O  for  those  days  of  Piast,  ere  the  Czar 
Orew  to  his  strength  among  his  deserts  cold  ; 
When  even  to  Moscow's  cupolas  were  rolled 
ihe  growing  murmurs  of  the  Polish  war  ' 
Now  must  your  noble  anger  blaze  out  more 
Xhan  when  from  SobieskT,  clan  by  clan, 
T^he  Moslem  myriads  fell,  and  fled  before  - 
inan    wnen    Zamoysky   smote   the    'J'artar 

Khan  ; 
Than  earlier,  when  on  the  Baltic  shore 
Uoleslas  drove  the  Pomeranian. 


That  Slug  mio  the  i>elibled  pool. 
My  haupy  falcon,  Rosalind, 
Hath  daring  fancies  of  her  own 


Fresh  as  t  .c  dawn  before  the  day. 
Fresh  as  the  early  sea-smell  blown 
Through  vineyards  from  an  inland  bay. 
My  Ros;Umd,  my  Rosalind, 
Because  no  shatlow  on  you  fa'ls, 
1  hink  you  hearts  are  tennis  balls 
To  play  with,  wahton  Rosalind  f 


SONNET 

ON    THE    RESULT    OF    THE     LATE    RUSSIAN 
INVASION  OF   POLAND. 

How  long,  O  God,  shall  men  be  ridden  down, 
And  trampled  under  by  the  last  and  least 
Of  men?    Ihe  heart  of  Poland  hath  not 

ceased 
To  quiver,  though  her  sacred  blood  doth 

drown 

rlipf  fl^'-r^  ""'1  °"' "f'^v-ery  mouldering  to;vr. 
Ti  I  tw^"'  ''=^f'^;;"te  Power  be  increased, 
1  111  that  o'er^rown  Barbarian  in  the  East 

crow  'I'l''"''''^  ''°"nd  •»  some  new 


strung 

I  bright  and  sharp, 
^mitar. 

*e  a  fitting  mate? 
ion  love  will  feel  • 
;aliant  Kate, 
s  blades  of  steel. 

is  void  of  might." 
are  gilded  flies." 
;ers  at  my  vows ; 
lovers'  sighs. 
d  knight, 
Ml  enterprise, 
'  swarthy  brows 
■reathed  emprise : 
would  pierce 
nging  fight, 
:ft  and  right, 
iy's  eyes. 

1  thf:  bold  and  fierce ; 
ugh  for  Kate, 
ig  mate. 


ET 

OF   THE   OUTBREAK 

fSURKECTION. 

ither  from  afar 
ot  bought  and  sold, 
oldest  of  the  bold  ; 
an   shackles  —  fling 

ere  the  Czar 
ng  his  deserts  cold'; 
cupolas  were  rolled 
the  Polish  war ! 
;er  blaze  out  more 
i,  clan  by  clan, 
,  and  fled  before  — 
smote   tile    Tartar 

Baltic  shore 
anian. 


E     LATE    RUSSIAN 
OLAND. 

in  be  ridden  down, 
i  last  and  least 
Poland  hath  not 

icred  blood  doth 

r  iiiouldcring  tow;; 
)wer  be  increased, 
ian  in  the  East 
nd  to  some  new 

'  long  shall  tltest 


SONNET.  — A  FRAGMENT. 


How  long  shall  the  icy-hearted  Muscovite 
Oppress  the  region  ? "     Us,  O  Just  and  Good, 
forgive,  who  smiled  when  she  was  torn  in 

three ; 
Us,  who  stand  now,  when  we  should  aid  the 

right  — 
A  matter  to  be  wept  with  tears  of  blood  I 


SONNET. 

As  when  with  downcast  eyes  we  muse  and 

brood, 
And  ebb  into  a  former  life,  or  seem 
To  lapse  far  back  in  a  confused  dream 
To  states  of  mystical  similitude  ; 
If  one  but  speaks  or  hems  or  stirs  his  chair, 
Ever  the  wonder  waxeth  more  and  more, 
So  that  we  sav,  "All  this  hath  been  before, 
AU  this  hath  been,  I  know  not  when  or 

_  where." 
So,  friend,  when  first  I  looked  upon  your  face. 
Our  thought  gave  answer,  each  to  each,  so 

true. 
Opposed  mirrors  each  reflecting  each  — 
Altho'  I  knew  not  in  what  time  or  place, 
Methought  that  I  had  often  met  with  you, 
And  each  had  lived  in  the  other's  mind  and 

speech. 


O  DARLING  ROOM. 


O  DARLING  room,  my  heart's  delight, 
Dear  room,  the  apple  of  my  sight, 


•97 


With  thy  two  couches  soft  and  white, 
There  is  no  room  so  exquisite, 
No  little  room  so  warm  and  bright. 
Wherein  to  read,  wherein  to  write. 

II. 

For  I  the  Nonnenwerth  have  seen. 
And  Oberwinter's  vineyards  green. 
Musical  Lurlei ;  and  between 
The  hills  to  Bingen  have  I  been, 
Bingen  in  Darmstadt,  where  the  Rhen# 
Curves  toward  Mentz,  a  woody  scene. 

III. 

Yet  never  did  there  meet  my  sigh^ 

In  anv  town  to  left  or  right, 

A  little  room  so  exquisite. 

With  two  such  couches  soft  and  whit»> 

Not  an;r  room  so  warm  and  bright, 

Wherein  to  read,  wherein  to  write. 


TO  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH 

You  did  late  review  my  lays, 

Crusty  Christopher  ; 
You  did  mingle  blame  and  praise, 

Rusty  Christopher. 
When  1  learnt  from  whom  it  cam«, 
I  forgave  you  all  the  blame. 

Musty  Christopher : 
I  could  noi  forgive  the  praise. 

Fusty  Christopher. 


FUGITIVE    POEMS. 


NO  MORE.* 

0  SAD  No  More  I  O  sweet  No  Morel 
O  strange  No  More  I 

By  a  mossed  brookbank  on  a  stone 

1  smelt  a  wildweed  flower  alone ; 
There  was  a  ringing  in  my  ears. 

And  both  my  eyes  pushed  out  with  tears. 
Surely  all  pleasant  things  had  gone  before, 
Low-buried  fathom  deep  beneath  with  thee. 
No  MORB  I 


ANACP-EQNTICS,* 

With  roses  muskjr-breathed. 
And  drooping  daffodilly, 
Ard  silver-leaved  lily, 
And  ivy  darkly-wreathed, 

•  From  the  Gem,  a  llteiiiy  amiual,  for  1831, 


I  wove  a  crown  before  her. 
For  her  I  love  so  dearly, 
A  garland  for  Lenora. 
With  a  silken  cord  I  bound  it 
Lenora,  laughing  clearly 
A  light  and  thrilling  laughter, 
About  her  forehead  wound  it, 
And  loved  me  ever  after. 


A  FRAGMENT.* 

Where  is  the  Giant  of  the  Sun,  which  stood 
ill  tiie  iviidnoon  the  gicry  of  old  Rhodes, 
A  perfect  Idol  with  profulgent  brows 
Far-sheening  down  the  pirple  seas  to  those 
Who  sailed  from  Mizraim  underneath  the  star 
Named  of  the  Dragon  — and  between  whose 
limbs 

*  From  the  Gem,  a  literary  annual,  for  t86i. 


W.l 


f 

?T^ 

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^  i 

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SOI^NETS  -  THE  NEiy  TIMON  AND  THE  POETS. 


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Of  brassy  vastness  broad-blown  Argosies 

OfclVnTf  'J"^'?  •    ^"^  *"'^"'«  unscathed 
BrrMH  hf '^"J  "^y^  !f  't'  8feat  Pyramids 

^"'°    where""'''"*'"*  sunimer  noon ;    but 

Mysterious  Egypt,  are  thine  obelisks 

Th^nUnJ.  Q^K-^''""!*""^'?'"^  undiscerned  ? 
Ihy  placid  Sphinxes  brooding  o'er  the  Nile  > 
Ihy  shadowing  Idols  in  the  solitudei? 
Awful  Memnonian  countenances  calm 

k^^!^h^,f'u^'l  "'^  ^"^"'"8  flats,  far  off 
Seen  by  the  high-necked  camel  on  the  verge 
Journeying  southward  ?    Whei  e  are  thy  mon- 
uments ■' 
Piled  by  the  strong  and  sunbom  Anakim 
n-r'^i"^"  "o^ned  brethren  On  and  Oph? 
Wifh^^-frHr?  when  his  peaceful  lips  are  kist 
With  earliest  ravs,  that  from  his  mother's  eyes 
Flow  over  the  Arabian  bay.  no  more        ^ 

ru,!      1  "j*  'i"°  '^^  charmed  ears  of  mom 
Clear  melody  flattering  the  crisped  Nile 
By  columned  Thebes.    Old  Memphis  hath 


But  in  the  middle  of  the  sombre  valley 

Thi  nlh  • '"'  ^^""•id  place  is  dark  and  holy, 
w    f^'i"^.'''^'  """^  'o"gand  low  preamble 

lardies  ^°"''"   '""'"   °^  ^^"^^ 

'^"''Jches"^  °"'  ""^  ^^'^Jbine's  flowery 

^^^  gambol.  '  '^^^'  '""^•^  "'^''^  «^""'" 
^"''g^'J^J^h'te-stemmed  pinewood  slept 
When  in  this  valley  first  I  told  my  love. 


gone  down  : 

de*a7h ''^  "^  "^  """"^  •  s°">«where  in 
They  sleep  with  staring  eyes  and  gilded  lips. 
^■^PP*;^  round  with  spiced  cerements  in  old 

Rock-hewn  and  sealed  for  ever. 


SONNET.* 

Mk  my  own  fate  to  lasting  sorrow  doometh  ; 

Thy  woes  are  birds  of  passage,  transitory ! 

Thy  spirit,  circled  with  a  living  glory. 
In  summer  still  a  summer  joy  resumeth 
Alone  my  hopeless  melancholy  gloometh. 

l^ike^a  lone  cypress,  through    he  twilight 

From  an  old  garden  where  no  flower  bloom- 
etn, 
One  cypress  on  an  island  promontory. 
But  yet  my  lonely  spirit  follows  thine. 

d"™.    ^^^  '■°"'"e  earth  night  follows 
But  yet  thy  lights  on  my  horizon  shine 

Into  mv  night,  when  thou  art  far  awav 
I  am  so  dark,  alas  I  and  thou  so  bright. 

light**"  '"^*'  "*"*  '*  °'^"  P"^"' 


SONNET.* 

^?K  !'i,*^*'!?l°"'^"'''  even'  ruder  sally 
Of  thought  and  speech;  speak  low  and 
gpve  up  wholly  *^  ^" 

i  iiy  spirit  to  miid-minded  melancholy ; 

'vaHeV   "■    ^''™"^''  yonder  poplar 
Below  the  blue-green  river  windeth  slowly ; 
•  Friendship's  Offerinjf.  1833. 


THE  SKIPPING-ROPE.* 

Sure  never  yet  was  Antelope 
c.^°"'d  skip  so  lightly  by. 

WMM  •'  °'^  ^'?e  '"y  skipping-rope 

Will  hit  you  in  the  eye.  ^ 

How  lightly  whirls  the  skipping-rope  I 

How  fairy-hke  you  fly  I  ^ 

l'  ^!L^,°u  F^,?'  y°V  "'"se  and  mope  - 

1  hate  that  silly  sigh. 
Nay,  dearest,  tea6h  me  how  to  hope, 

Or  tell  me  how  to  die. 
There,  take  it,  take  my  skipping-rope, 

And  hang  yourself  thereby.        ^' 

THE  NEW  TIMON  AND  THE 
POETS.t 

^A  ^A°u  ^'^'^'  °"'  of  Shakespeare's  art 
Ti,      iJ'j??*  '•"^  •=.""««  ^-fiich  he  spoke  ; 
The  old  Timon,  with  his  noble  heart, 
mat,  strongly  loathing,  greatly  broke. 

So  died  the  Old  :'  here  comes  the  New 
Regard  him  :  a  fsmiliar  face  : 

tS^I'^TJ'"'"'  '""1=  ^hat,  it  's  you, 
The  padded  man -that  wears  the  stay    - 

^Wirh'i^'^i''*  S'l!"  and  thrilled  the  boys 
With  dandy  pathos  when  you  wrote  1 
f'°"'.y°"'  'hat  made  a  noise, 
And  shook  a  mane  enpapillotes. 

And  once  you  tried  the  Muses  too  • 
You  failed,  Sir  :  therefore  now  you  turn. 

To  fall  on  those  who  are  to  you 
As  Captain  is  to  Subaltern. 

But  men  of  long-enduring  hopes. 
And  careless  what  this  hour  may  brine. 

Can  pardon  little  would-be  Popes 
And  Brummels,  when  they  try  to  sting. 

An  Artist,  Sir,  should  rest  in  Art, 

And  waive  a  little  of  his  claim  : 
To  have  the  deep  Poetic  heart 

Is  more  than  all  poetic  fame. 

•  Omitted  from  the  edition  of  1842. 


POETS. 

e  sombre  valley 
jper  musically, 
ilace  is  dark  and  holy, 
iig  and  low  preamble, 
er   knoll   of  solemn 

woodbine's  flowery 

wove    their  wanton 

imed  pinewood  slept 

rst  I  told  my  love. 


IG-ROPE.* 

ntelope 
by. 

tippnig-rope 
ye. 

skipping-rope  I 

yi 

muse  and  mope  • 

how  to  hope, 

skipping-rope, 
ereby. 


<r  AND  THE 

t 

kespeare's  art, 
riich  he  spoke ; 
loble  heart, 
greatly  broke. 

les  the  New. 
face  : 

V^hat,  it  's  yon, 
wears  the  stay    - 

irilled  the  boys 
I  you  wrote  1 
loise, 
pillotes. 

ses  too ; 

:  now  you  turn, 

you 

Q. 

opes, 

ur  may  bring, 

Popes 

ey  try  to  sting. 

1  Art, 
aim; 
irt 
le. 

84a. 

aiy.  ia4«i  signed 


STANZAS.  — SONNET.  —  BRITONC       'JARD   YOUR  OWN. 


But  you.  Sir,  you  are  hard  to  please ; 

You  never  look  but  half  content ; 
Nor  like  a  gentleman  at  ease, 

With  moral  breadth  of  temperament. 

And  what  with  spites  and  what  with  fears. 

You  cannot  '.^t  a  body  be  : 
It 's  always  rinsing  in  your  ears, 

"They  call  this  man  as  good  as  me." 

What  profits  now  to  understand 
The  merits  of  a  spotless  shirt  — 

A  dapper  boot  —  a  little  hand— 
If  half  the  little  soul  is  dirt? 

You  talk  of  tinsel  I  why,  we  see 

The  old  mark  of  rouge  upon  your  cheeks. 
You  prate  of  Nature  I  you  are  he 

That  spilt  his  life  about  the  cliques. 

A  TiMON  you  !    Nay,  nay,  for  shame  : 

It  looks  too  arrogant  a  jest  — 
The  fierce  old  man  —  to  take  his  name, 

You  bandbox.    Off,  and  let  him  rest 


STANZAS.* 

What  time  I  wasted  youthful  hours. 
One  of  the  shining  winged  powers, 
Show'd  me  vast  cliffs  with  crown  of  towers. 

As  towards  the  gracious  light  I  bow'd, 
They  seem'd  high  palaces  and  proud. 
Hid  now  and  then  with  sliding  cloud. 

He  said,  "  The  labor  is  not  small ; 
Yet  winds  the  pathway  free  to  all :  — 
Take  care  thou  dost  not  fear  to  fall  I ' 


SONNET  • 

TO  WILLIAM  CHARLES  MACRHADY.t 

Farewell,  Macready,  since  to-night  we 
part. 
Full-handed  thunders  often  have  confest 
Thy  power,  well-used  to  move  the  public 
breast. 
We  thank  thee  with  one  voice,  and  from  the 

heart. 
Farewell,  Macready;  since  this  night  we  part. 
Go,  take  thine  honors  home  :  rank  with  the 

best, 
Garrick,  and  statelier  Kemble,  and  the  rest 
Who  made  a  nation  purer  thro'  their  art. 
Thine  is  it,  that  our  Drama  did  not  die, 
Nor  flicker  down  to  brainless  pantomime. 
And  those  gilt  gauds  men-children  swarm 
to  see. 
Farewell,  Macready ;  moral,  grave,  sublime. 
Our  Shakespeare's  bland  and'universal  eye 
Dwells   pleased,   thro'  twice  a  hundred 
years,  on  thee> 

•  The  Keepsake,  1851. 

t  Read  by  Mr.  John  Forster  at  a  dinner  riven  to 
Mr.  Macready,  March  1,  i8si,  on  his  reUrement 
from  the  stage.  | 


399 

BRITONS,  GUARD  YOUR  OWN.* 

Rise,  Britons,  rise,  if  manhood  be  not  dead  ; 
The  world's  last  tempest  darkens  overhead ; 

The  Pope  has  bless'd  him ; 

The  Church  caress'd  him  ; 
He  triumphs;  maybe  we  shall  stand  alone. 

Britons,  guard  your  ovvn. 

His  ruthless  host  is  bought  with  plunder'd 

T,    ,  •         ?"'''• 

By  lying  priests  fhe  peasants' votes  controll'd. 

All  freedom  vanish'd, 

The  true  men  banish'd, 
He  triumphs  ;  maybe  we  shall  stand  alone. 

Britons,  guard  your  own. 

Perxe-lovers  we  — sweet  Peace  we  all  de- 
sire— 
Peace-lovers  we —but  who  can  trust  a  liar  ?  — 
Peace-lovers,  haters 
Of  shameless  traitors. 
We  hate  not  France,  but  this  man's  heart  of 
stone, 
Britons,  guard  your  own. 

We  hate  not  France,  but  France  has  lost  her 

voice. 
This  man  is  France,  the  man  they  call  her 
choice. 
By  tricks  and  spying, 
By  craft  and  lying, 
And  murder  was  her  freedom  overthrown. 
Britons,  guard  your  own. 

"Vive  TEmpereur"  may  follow  by  and  by  ; 
God  save  the  Queen  "  is  here  a  truer  cry. 
God  save  the  Nation, 
The  toleration. 
And  the  free  speech  that  makes  a  Briton 
known. 
Britons,  guard  your  own. 

Rome's  dearest   daughter  now   is   captive 

France, 
The  Jesuit  laughs,  and   reckoning  on  his 
chance. 
Would  unrelenting, 
Kill  all  dissenting. 
Till  we  were  left  to  fight  for  truth  alone. 
Britons,  gur.rd  your  own. 

Call  home  your  ships  across  Biscayan  tides. 
To  blow  the  battle  from  their  oaken  sides. 

Why  waste  they  yonder 

Their  idle  thunder? 
Why  stay  they  there  to  guard  a  foreign  throne? 

Seamen,  guard  your  own. 

We  were  the  best  of  marksmen  long  ago. 
We  won  old  battles  with  our  strength,  the 
bow. 

N«w  practise,  yeomen. 

Like  those  bowmen. 
Till  your  balls  fly  as  their  shafts  have  flown. 

Yeomen,  guard  your  own, 

*  The  Examiner,  1859, 


His  soldier-rrlfl.n  m:„i, .   .     .     ..  ^<^mj.^ 


'■I 


Thftl''«'''J'^''*"  Highness  might  incline 
To  take  Sardinia.  Belgium,  or  t£e  Rhi  e  ; 

shall  we  stand  idle, 

Nor  -eek  to  bridle 

wake  their  cause  your  own. 

Should  he  land  here,  and  for  one  hour  nrevail 
There  must  no  man  go  back  to  bearX  tale  ! 

i'lo  man  to  bear  It  — 
Ai.i.        Swear  it!  we  swear,)  ! 
Although  we  fight  the  banded  world  alone 

Wc  swear  to  guard  our  own 


THE  THIRD  OF  FEBRUARY,  ,852.* 

My  lor^s,  we  heard  you  speak ;  you  told  us 

That^Jngland's  honest  censure  went  too 

That  our  free  press  should  cease  to  brawl 
Not  sting  the  fiery  Frenchman  into  wa  ' 
T„T  =">  \»cie,nt  Privilege,  my  "ords? 

w'i.r'di"'"  *•*  ^^"^  nof  fearing.  -Into 

We  love  not  this  French  God,  this  child  of 

^"S[' ''''° '''"'''  '^"^  ~"^«'««  °f  the 
Biit  though'we  love  kind  Peace  so  weii 

It  mfg^fsafeV^  "^  "'^""'  "'"«'""  "es. 
aVj  £/     \  be  our  censures  to  withdraw  • 
And yet,^my  lords,  notwell;  there isahi^her 


■^^xte/K  "'n  "'l"'"'"'  *e  must  speak  free 
bfeakl    *•"*  "°""  °'  Europe  o^„.s 

'^B.'i"'.!  ^"■""°  *t=*te  are  we, 

siakT*  ""'^  '°  ^"'■°P«''  ^«  '««*' 

^'"'*  deS"'^'''  ""^  ^"""=«'  were  struA 

There  might  remain  some  record  of  the 
things  we  said.  ^^ 

'te  k*-!*?'^"''  t»'en  must  we  be  bold, 
pj;.     :;ritain  cannot  salve  a  tyrant  o'er 
Better  the  waste  Atlantic  roll'd 
Wi;". .  u  *"^  "'  '"'^  ours  for  evermore. 

Lrime!  **  *"°"«'"  '"°'  frwdo^frol;  our 

^^  ''^crime'i"'^^  *°'^  P*'**'  '"'*''  *  P"Wic 

Shall  we  fear  him  ?  our  own  we  never  feared 

/"r"cla!S'''"''^'^^°'^''^^--« 
^^l}'^^''  the  Papal  spur,  we  rear'd. 
Aiid  flung  the  burden  of  the  second'  fames 

t'^the's^s."  '''  '''"'•  *^  '^'°^*  '"««« 
•  The  Examiner,  1853,  and  sigrned  "  MerUn." 


o^M^i«-^;d^--er- 

«^  feel,  at  least,  that  silence  here  were  sin 

Not  ours  the  fault  if  we  have  feebirhosts- 

If  easy  patrons  of  their  kin  "osts- 

colst/"'  ^^'  '"'■"  '""  ^'''^  •«''«=d 
^''^^  gJJI^d  •'"  '"■"'°"'  ""'"SS  they  had  to 
^  *""  "'word*'"  "*"  'P^''  ""^  'y'^"'  °"e  h"d 
Though^nigg=,rd  throats  of  Manchester  may 

^'' forgeif  "'^  *"•  "''='"  »>«'  tnie  sons 
We  are  not  LOttcn-spinners  all. 

AnH"»»f-°cT^  '"''*  ^."E'^nd,  and  her  honor  yet 
And  these  m  pur  'rhermopyls  shall  stand 
And  hold^against  the  worfd'the  honor  ofliie 


HANDS  ALL  ROUND.* 


*' A 'hefhh'in'p'*!'''';'''*  *°'<"""  night. 
A  .lealth  to  England,  everv  euest  ■ 

wV"?"  ^  'b  ^e^t  cosmopolfte     ' 

Who  loves  his  native  country  best. 
Mjy.freedom's  o.  k  for  ever  live 

With  stronger  jife  from  day  to  dav  • 
That  man  's  th.  best  Conservative  ^ ' 

Who  lops  ...e  mouldered  branch  away. 

r.  J  .L    "a"4s  all  round  I  ' 

Tn  fhu      '^r^"'"*  hope  confound  I 
To  this  grea^  cause  of  Freedom  drin)..  my 

And  the  great^nanie  of  England,  round  and 

A  health  to  Europe's  honest  men  I 

Heaven  guard  them  from  her  tyrants'  faiU  t 
From  wronged  Poerio's  noisome^de"     ^ 

From  iron  limbs  and  tortured  nails'j 
We  curse  the  crimes  of  southern  kngk 

The  Russian  whips  and  Austrian  rods  - 
We  likewise  have  our  evil  things ; 

Too  much  we  make  our  Ledgers.  Gods. 

Yet  hands  all  round  1 
God  the  tjrranfs  cause  confound  I 
To  Europe's^^bet^er  health  we  drink,   my 

And  the  great  name  of  England,  round  and 

^wL'l^''"' !?  f  *■'"«•  '^  France  be  she. 

Yeuerhir'"h',f  °^''^'^  °-"'y  <=harms?  ' 
itet  ten  her  —  better  to  be  tree 

Ihan  vanquish  all  the  worid  in  arms. 
•  The  Examiner,  iSsa,  and  signed  "Merlin." 


'^L  ROUND. ^ 

3u  make  the  people 

our  Barons'  breed  — 
lu)  fought  at  Lewes? 
in  of  Kunnymede? 
iferawed, 

rhispersofthismoa- 

lence  here  were  sin. 

have  feeble  hosts  — 
in 

e  race  with  naked 

things  they  had  to 

the  tyrant  one  hard 

Jf  Manchester  may 

liall  her  true  sons 

s  all, 

and  her  honor  yet. 
'yl*  shall  stand, 
d  the  honor  of  the 


LOUND.» 

solemn  night, 

5ry  guest ; 

ipolite 

intry  best. 

rlive 

lay  to  day ; 

irvative 

branch  away. 

ifound  I 

edom  drinl.,  my 

gland,  round  and 


t  men  I 

ler  tyrants' jails  I 
ome  den, 
red  nails  I 
bem  kings, 
ustrian  rods  — 
ings; 

Edgers,  Gods, 
idl 

found  ! 
we  drink,   my 

land,  round  and 


ance  be  she, 

y  charms? 

e 

d  iu  arms. 

led  "Merlin." 


THE  WAR.  — ON  A   SPITEFUL  LETTER.  — ti6i-iS66. 


301 


Her  frantic  city's  flashing  heats 

But  fire,  to  blast,  the  hopes  of  men. 
Why  change  the  titles  of  your  streets? 
You  fools,  you  'II  want  them  all  again. 

Hands  all  round  I 
God  the  tyrant's  cause  confound  I 
To  France,  the  wiser  France,  we  drink,  my 
friends. 
And  the  great  name  of  England,  round  and 
round. 

Gigantic  daughter  of  the  West, 

We  drink  t    thee  across  the  flood. 
We  know  thee  and  we  love  thee  best. 

For  art  thou  not  of  British  blood  ? 
Should  war's  mad  blast  again  be  blown. 

Permit  not  thou  the  tyrant  powers 
To  fight  thy  mother  here  alone. 

But  let  thy  broadsides  roar  with  ours. 
Hands  all  round  I 

God  the  tyrant's  cause  confound  ! 
To  our  dear  kinsmen  of  the  West,  my  friends. 

And  the  great  name  of  England,  round  and 
round. 

O  rise,  our  strong  Atlantic  sons. 

When  war  agamst  our  freedom  springs  I 
O  speak  to  Europe  thro  igh  your  guns  ! 

They  can  be  understcd  by  kings. 
You  must  not  mix  our  Queen  with  those 

That  wish  to  keep  their  people  fools  ; 
Our  freedom's  foemen  are  her  foes, 

She  comprehends  the  race  she  rules. 
Hands  all  round  I 

God  the  tyrant's  cause  confound  I 
To  our  dear  kinsman  in  the  West,  my  friends. 

And  the  great  name  of  England,  round  and 
round. 


THE  WAR.* 

There  is  a  sound  of  thunder  afar. 

Storm  in  the  South  that  darkens  the  day, 
Storm  of  battle  and  thunder  of  war. 
Well,  if  it  do  not  roll  our  way. 
Form  I  form  !  Riflemen  form  I 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm  I 
Riflemen,  riflemen,  riflemen  form  1 

Be  not  deaf  to  the  sound  that  warns  I 

Be  not  guU'd  by  a  despot's  plea  I 
Are  figs  of  thistles,  or  grapes  of  thorns? 
How  should  a  despot  set  men  free  ? 
Form  !  form  I  Riflemen  form  I 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm  I 
Riflemen,  riflemen,  riflemen  form  1 

T.et  your  Reforms  for  a  moment  '•o 
Look  to  your  butts  and  take  good  aims. 

Better  a  rotten  borough  or  so. 
Than  a  rotten  fleet  or  a  city  in  flames  I 

*  London  Times,  May  9, 1859. 


Form  I  form  !  Riflemen  form  ! 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm  I 
Riflemen,  riflemen,  riflemen  form  ! 

Form,  be  reac-y  to  do  or  die  I 

Form  in  Freedom's  name  and  the  Queen's  I 
True,  that  we  have  a  faithful  ally, 
But  only  the  Devil  knows  what  he  means. 
Form  !  form  !  Riflemen  form  ! 
Ready,  be  ready  to  meet  the  storm  ! 
Riflemen,  riflemen,  riflemen  form  I 

T. 


ON  A  SPITEFUL  LETTER.* 

Herb,  it  is  here  —  the  close  of  the  year. 

And  with  it  a  spiteful  letter. 
My  fame  in  song  lias  done  him  much  wrong, 

For  himself  has  done  much  better. 

0  foolish  bard,  is  your  lot  so  hard. 
If  men  neglect  your  pages  ? 

1  think  not  much  of  yours  or  of  mine  : 
I  hear  the  roll  of  the  ages. 

This  fallen  leaf,  is  n't  fame  as  brief? 

Mv  rhymes  may  have  been  the  stronger. 
Yet  nate  me  not,  but  abide  your  lot ;  > 

I  last  but  a  moment  longer. 

O  faded  leaf,  is  n't  fame  as  brief? 

What  room  is  here  for  a  hater  ? 
Yet  the  yellow  leaf  hates  the  greener  leaf. 

For  it  hangs  one  moment  later. 

Greater  than  I  —  is  n't  that  your  cry  ? 

And  I  shall  live  to  see  it. 
Well,  if  it  be  so,  so  it  is,  jjou  know ; 

And  if  it  be  so  —  so  be  it ! 

O  summer  leaf,  is  n't  life  as  brief? 

But  this  is  the  time  of  hollies. 
And  my  heart,  my  heart  is  an  evergreen : 

I  hate  the  spites  and  the  follies. 


i86s-i866.t 

I  STOOD  on  a  tower  in  the  wet. 

And  New  Year  and  Old  Year  m-;t, 

And  winds  were  roaring  and  blowing  ; 

And  I  said,  "  O  years  that  meet  in  tears, 

Have  ye  aught  that  is  worth  the  knowing? 

Science  enough  and  exploring. 

Wanderers  coming  and  going. 

Matter  enough  for  deploring. 

But  aught  that  is  worth  the  knowing  ?  " 

Seas  at  my  feet  were  flowing, 

Waves  on  the  shingle  pouring. 

Old  Year  roaring  and  blowing. 

And  New  Year  blowing  and  roaring. 

•  Once  a  Week,  January  4,  i868. 
t  Good  Words,  March,  1868. 


334 


THE  lywnofv. 


' 


1    I 


THE    WINDOW; 

THE    SONGS    OF    THE    WRENS. 

WORDS   WRITTEN   FOR   MUSIG 
THE  MUSIC  BY  ARTHUR  SULLIVAN. 


exS  ?ra"rtTpo^  I^''^-?  ^''"■«<«<'  ""=  .o  write  a  ......  ^^' 


Pleted,  and  1  an.  bound  by 


dance  araiJ'in'^h^dJk'i'h'r,?^  •"i'Ti-,':  "i" anV's;,?,r.'h''«'  ^"^  a"--''-:^ 
my  prcnise.  '*""  "^""l"*  "^  '"ese  days ,  b'uMi,?  ^^^  il''  now'/ompfe'tl 


Decembtr,  187a 


A.  Tennyson. 


ON  THE  HILL. 

WU  the  wind,  are  up  in  the  morning?  I 
Clouds  that  are  racing  above 
'''"'TofK^'''-"''»''aSows  that  can. 
All  runmng  on  one  way  to  the  home  of  my, 

''°"'"op'"o?trh?,,''"'-'^^''^-donthe, 
And  the  winds  are  up  in  the  morning  ( 
Follow  follow  the  chase  I 

ftfacl>'°"''^"«°^-''"-eet 
''"'"^nd'=go'„r'"'^^^°-y- become 
When  the  Winds  are  up  in  the  .norning  I 


II. 


AT  THE  WINDOW. 

X,'''='.^'"e  and  eglantine, 

Uasp  her  window,  trail  and  twine  1 

Rose,  rose  and  clematis.  °' ' 

Kiss  kiss  -"".n^  ""i"'2'P  ""d  kiss. 

»Cers  'anTdroSme'^r'^ 
Drop  ..'.e  a  flowed' ''''°*'='' 

&  Y'"*««"d  eglantine, 


An^°?°rM.*'""',.'''"^  the  slope  I 
"''oSvVJ'r''"- tot'- window-pane 

/;'en;?'^fty"L%'  '^^^"'^  -'^  ''"«'''- 
"like  mrL^  ''"^'''-''  --^  darken. 
And  the  windi  are  up  in  the  morning. 


III. 

^        .  GONE  I 

Gone! 

Gor.e  till  the  end  of  the  year, 

T,b      "^""'"edaway,  " 

'"''^V.'!^  .t",-"  "^"^  "'^'"  ='"''  '"e  ,un 

''°"%ntelr'"'"^''"^.a"daston„ 

'"'"™noV&rer'"'*'''"»'«i«*'JI''now 
Down  in  the  south  is  a  «,»».  -  j 

•hei,theriI;1,e^•ffc■^'^»S^: 


NS. 


man  fashion,  for  him  to 
5  a.1     Orpheus  w  th  his 

K  merit  Is,  perhans,  that 
puppet  should  Aa;,'7j 

3.  and  1  am  bound  by 

A.  Tennyson. 


rNDOW. 

itinci 

ail  and  twine  I 

:lasp  and  kiss, 
'  her  a  bower 
op  me  a  flower, 
'er. 

lie, 

yer,  be  mine  ? 

IS, 

3wer,  to  kiss, 
>f  her  bower 
,  a  flower, 


T//£  fy/Arnoyr. 


m 


nth  her  and  left 

ght  and  the  aun 

»rt,  and  a  storm 

t,  flitted  I  know 

I  and  a  groan  : 
ire  I 


IV. 


WINTER. 


TiiR  frostds  here, 

And  fuel  is  dear, 

And  woods  are  sear, 

And  fires  burn  clear, 

And  frost  is  here 

And  has  bitten  the  heel  of  the  going  year. 

Bite,  frost,  bite  I 

You  roll  up  awav  from  the  light 

The  blue  woodlouse,  and  the  plump  dor- 
mouse, 

And  the  bees  are  still'd,  and  the  flies  are 
kill'd, 

And  you  bite  far  into  the  heart  of  the  house, 

liut  not  into  mine. 

liite,  frost,  bite  ! 

'1  he  woods  are  all  the  searer. 

The  fuel  is  all  the  dearer, 

The  fires  are  all  the  clearer. 

My  spring  is  all  the  nearer. 

You  have  bitten  iuto  the  heart  of  the  earth. 

But  not  uto  mine. 


V. 

SPRING. 

Birds'  love  and  birds'  song 

Flying  here  and  there. 
Birds'  song  and  birds'  love. 

And  you  with  gold  for  hair 
Birds'  song  and  birds'  love. 

Passing  with  the  weather. 
Men's  song  and  men's  love. 

To  love  once  and  for  ever. 

Men's  love  and  birds*  love. 

And  women's  love  and  men's  I 
And  you  my  wren  with  a  crfiwn  of  gold, 

You  my  Queen  of  the  wrens  I 
You  the  Queen  of  the  wrens  — 

We  '11  be  birds  of  a  feather, 
I  '11  be  King  of  the  Queen  of  the  wrens, 

And  all  in  a  nest  together. 


THE  LETTER. 

Where  is  another  sweet  as  my  sweet, 
Fine  of  the  fine,  and  shy  of  t!ie  shy? 
Fme  little  hands,  fine  little  feet  — 


r>. 


,    M..<1    A.,.. 


Shall  I  write  to  her  ?  shall  I  go  ? 

Ask  her  to  marry  me  by  and  by? 
Somebody  said  that  she  'd  say  no ; 

Somebody  knows  that  she  '11  say  ay  I 

Ay  or  no,  if  ask'd  to  her  face? 
Ay  or  no,  from  shy  of  the  shy  ? 


Go,  little  letter,  apace,  apace, 

My  ! 
Flv  to  the  light  in  the  valley  below  — 

Tell  my  wish  to  her  dewy  blue  eye  : 
Somebody  said  that  she  'd  sav  no; 

Somebody  knows  that  she  II  say  ay  I 


VII. 

NO  ANSWER. 

The  mist  and  the  rain,  the  mist  and  the  rain  I 

Is  It  ay  or  no  ?  is  it  ay  or  no  ? 
And  never  a  glimpse  of  her  window-pane  ' 

And  I  may  die  but  the  grass  will  grow. 
And  the  (;mss  will  grow  when  I  am  gone, 
And  the  wet  west  wind  and  the  world  will  eo 
on.  " 

Ay  is  the  song  of  the  wedded  spheres. 
No  is  trouble  and  cloud  and  storm. 

Ay  is  life  for  a  hundred  years, 
No  will  push  me  down  to  the  worm. 

And  when  I  am  there  and  dead  and  gone. 

The  wet  west  wind  and  the  world  will  go  on. 

The  wind  and  the  wet,  the  wind  and  the  wet ! 

Wet  west  wind,  how  you  blow,  you  blow ! 
And  never  a  line  from  my  lady  yet  ! 

Is  it  ay  or  no  ?  is  it  ay  or  no? 
Blow  then,  blow,  and  when  I  am  gone, 
The  wet  west  wind  and  the  world  may  go  on 


VIII. 


NO  ANSWER. 

Winds  are  loud  and  you  are  dumb ; 
Take  my  love,  for  love  will  come, 

Love  will  come  but  once  a  life. 
Winds  are  loud  and  winds  u  ill  pass  ! 
Spring  is  here  with  leaf  and  grass  : 

Take  my  love  and  be  my  wife. 
After-loves  of  maids  and  men 
Are  but  dainties  drest  again  : 
Love  me  now,  you  '11  love  me  then  : 

Love  can  love  but  once  a  life. 


IX. 


THE  ANSWER. 

Two  little  hands  that  meet, 
Claspt^onher  seal,  my  sweet ! 
Must  I  take  you  and  break  you, 
Two  little  hands  that  meet? 
I  must  take  you,  and  break  you, 
And  loving  hands  must  part  — 
Take,  take  —  break,  break  — 
Break  —  you  may  break  my  heart. 
Faint  heart  never  won  — 
Break,  break,  and  all 's  done. 


3«»4 


of. 

AY  I 


Tff£   IVmDOJV. 


Ba  meny,  all  birds,  to-day, 

^^l  befo?eV"  "  ''''  "'^"  ""» 
^^^TJ  '°  ''/'''*"•  ^^  '"''*'  and  far  away, 
mire  ^       ""  ^"'^  «^*'''  a*"!  ""e  day 
J*  .   Why? 
For  It 's  easy  to  find  a  rhyme. 

Look,  look,  how  he  flits, 

"%«  ^hT^e'r  "'*''' ^"^^-'« 
Look  howjhey  tumble  the  blossom,  the  mad 

"^"o'^finV?'^"*"*'*""  *"  *^"  *  May 
„     .  Why? 
For  It 's  easy  to  find  a  rhyme. 

O  merry  the  linnet  and  dove. 
And  swallow  and  sparrow  and  throstle,  and 
have  your  desire  !  ' 

'^'(^wfe'''"«°' *''«-"«  with  a 
Why? 
For  It 's  ay  ay  ay,  ay  ay. 


WHEN? 

Sto  comes,  moon  comes, 

Time  slips  away. 
Sun  sets,  moon  sets, 

Love,  fix  a  day. 


"  "  ^*'"  K  *iT,*'  *.  5;ear  hence.  " 
•<  A         *''^"  '^°">  t)e  gray  " 
A  month  hence,  a  month  hence." 
far,  faraway." 

"  ■^  *'f*'*,.''^"">  a  week  hence." 
•.iir  •  '  'n^  long  delay." 
Wait  a  litt  e  wait  a  little. 
You  shall  fix  a  day." 

"  AnTtTI?'?''  '°^'''  to-nio^ow, 
And  that 'a an  age  away." 

Blaze  upon  her  window,  sun. 
And  honor  all  the  day. 


XI. 

MARRIAGE  MORNING. 

Light,  so  low  upon  earth, 

you  send  a  flash  to  the  sun. 
"ere  is  the  golden  close  of  love. 
AJl  my  wooing  is  done. 
M,    ^°°ds  and  the  meadows. 
Woods  where  we  hid  from  the  wet. 
Stiles  where  we  stay'd  to  be  kind. 

Meadows  m  which  we  met  ' 
l-ight,  so  low  in  the  vale, 

You  flash  and  lighten  afar : 
tor  this  IS  the  eolden  morning  of  love. 

And  you  are  his  morning  star. 
Hash,  I  am  coming,  I  come, 

By  meadow  and  stile  and  wood  : 
O  Jighten  into  my  eyes  and  my  heart. 

Into  my  heart  and  my  blood  ' 
Heart,  are  you  great  enough 
For  a  love  that  never  tires.' 
O  heart,  are  you  great  enough  for  love? 

I  have  heard  of  thorns  and  briers. 
Over  the  thorns  and  briers. 

Over  the  meadows  and  stiles, 
^VM  the  world  to  the  end  of  it 
*lash  for  a  million  miles 


h'  ^ 


a  year  hence." 
th  be  gray." 
e,  a  month  hence." 
ly." 

a  week  heuce." 
:  delay." 
'ait  a  little, 

a  day." 

'e,  to-morrow, 
age  away." 
I'indow,  sun, 
the  day. 


MORNING. 

arth, 
the  sun. 
se  of  love, 
ne. 

neadows, 
I  Trom  the  wet, 
to  be  kind, 
.■a  met ! 
le, 
1  afar : 

nomingof  love, 

tiing  star. 

come, 

and  wood : 

and  my  heart, 

f  blood  ! 

ough 

tires.' 

nough  for  love? 

s  and  briers. 

ers, 

d.  stiles, 

id  of  it 

les 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTS. 


305 


GARETH    AND    LYNETTE. 


The  last  tall  son  of  Lot  and  Bellicent, 
And  tallest,  Gareth,  in  a  showerful  spring 
Stared   at   the   spate.     A   slender-shafted 

Pine 
Lost  footing,  fell,  and  so  was  whirl'd  away. 
How  he  went  down,"  said  Gareth,  "as  a 
false  knight 
Or  evil  king  before  my  lance  if  lance 
Were  mme  to  use  —  O  senseless  cataract, 
Bearmg  all  down  in  thy  precipitancy— 
And  yet  thou  art    but    swollen    with  cold 

snows, 
^?^'JV",*'^''^'"8  Wood :  thou  dost  His  will, 
1  he  Maker's,  and  not  knowest,  and  I  that 

know. 
Have  strength  and  wit,  in  my  good  mother's 

nail 
Linger  with  vacillating  obedience, 
Pnson  d,  and  kept  and  coax'd  and  whistled 

to  — 
Since  the   good   mother  holds  me  still  a 

child  — 
Good  mother  is  bad  mother  unto  me  I 
A  worse  \vere  better;  yet  no  worse  would  I 
Heaven  yield  her  for  :t,  but  in  me  put  force 
10  weary  her   ears    with    one   continuous 

prayer. 
Until  she  let  me  fly  discaged  to  sweep 
In  ever-highering  eagle-circles  up 
To  the  great  Sun   of  Glory,   and  thence 
swoop 

Down  upon  all  things  base,  and  dash  them 

_  dead, 
A  knight  of  Arthur,  working  out  his  will, 
To  cleanse  the  world.    Why,  Gawain,  when 

he  came 
With  Modred  hither  in  the  summertime. 
Askd   me   to   tilt   with   him,  the  pnJven 

knight. 
Modred  for  want  of  worthier  was  the  judee 
Then  I  so  shook  him  in  the  saddle,  he  slid. 
Thou  hast  half  prevail'd  against  me,'  said 
so  —  he  -^ 
Tho'  Modred  biting  his  thin  lips  was  mute, 
*  or  he  is  alway  sullen  :  what  care  I  ?  " 


And  Gareth  answer'd  her  with  kindline 

eyes,  * 

"  Nay,  nay,  good  mother,  but  tlus  egg  of 

mine 
Was  finer  gold  than  any  goose  can  lay  • 
For  this  an  Eagle,  a  royal  Eagle,  laid 
Almost  beyond  eye-reach,  on  such  a  palm 
As  ghtters  gilded  in  thy  Book  of  Hours. 
And    there    was  ever    haunting  round  the 

palm 
A  lusty  youth,  but  poor,  who  often  saw 
ine    splendor   sparkling  from    aloft,    and 
^  thought 

An  I  could  climb  and  lay  my  hand  upon 

Then  were   I  wealthier   than    a   leash  of 

kings.' 
But  ever  when  he  reach'd  a  hand  to  climb, 
One,  that  had  loved  him  from  his  childhood, 
caught  ' 

And  stay'd  him,  '  Climb  not  lest  thou  break 

thy  neck, 
I  charge  thee  by  my  love,'  and  so  the  boy. 
bweet  mother,  neither  clomb,  nor  brake  his 

neck. 
But  brake  his  very  heart  in  pining  for  it. 
And  past  away."  * 

„  T,       ,  To  whom  the  mother  said, 

Inie  love,  sweet  son,  had  risk'd  himself 

and  climb'd, 
And  handed  down  the  golden  treasure  to 

him." 


And  Gareth  went,  and  hovering  round 
her  chair 
Ask'd,  "Mother,  tho'  ye  count  me  still  the 

child. 
Sweet  mother,  do  ye  love  the  child  ? "    She 
laugh'd, 

ii  ?i!°"  *"  ^^  "  wild-goose  to  question  it." 
1  hen,  mother,  an  ye  love  the  child,"  he 
said, 
"Being  a  goose  and  rather  tame  than  wild. 
Hear  the  child's  story."    "Yea.  my  well- 
beloved. 

An  't  were  but  of  the  goose  and  golden 
eggs."  '  ^. 


And  Gareth  answer'd  her  with  kindling 

eyes,  * 

"  Gold?  said  I  gold  ?  —  ay  then,  why  he,  or 

she. 
Or  whosoe'er  it  was,  or  half  the  world 
Had  ventured  — Az</  the  thing  I  spake  of 
been 

Mere  gold  — but  this  was  all  of  that  true 

steel, 
Whereof  they  forged  the  brand  Excalibur, 

And  I 


And  lightnings  play'd"'abo'ut""ir  in"tire"storm, 

nd  all  the  little  fowl  were  flurried  at  it 
And  there  were  cries  and  clashings  in  the 

nest. 
Thai  sent  him  from  his  senses :  let  me  go." 

!■  S***"  Jellicent  bemoan'd  herself  and  said. 

Hast  thou  nr.  pity  iipon  rny  loneliness? 
Lo,  where  thy  father  Lot  beside  the  hearth 
Lies   like  a  log,    and  all  but  smoulder'd 

out  I 
For  ever  since  when  traitor  to  the  King 
He  fought  against  him  in  the  Barons'  war, 
Aiid  Arthur  gave  him  back  his  territory, 
His  age  hath  slowly  droopt,  and  now  lies 

there 

T 


I 


3o6 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


.n> 


1 


'I' I 
1 11 1 


A  yet-w.nrm  corpse,  and  yet  unburiable, 
No  more  ;  nor  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  speaks, 

nor  knows. 
And  both  thy  brethren  are  in  Arthur's  hall. 
Albeit  neither  loved  with  that  full  love 
I  feel  for  thee,  nor  worthy  such  a  love  ; 
Stay  therefore  thou ;  red  berries  charm  the 

bird, 
And    thee,   mine  innocent,  the  jousts,  the 

wars. 
Who  never  knewest  finger-ache,  nor  pang 
Of  wrench'd    or   broken    limb  —  an    often 

chance 
In  those  brain-stunning  shocks,  and  tournev- 

falls. 
Frights  to  my  heart ;  but  stay :  follow  the 

deer 
By  these  tall  firs  and  our  fast-falling  bums ; 
So  make  thy  manhood  mightier  day  by  day  ; 
Sweet  is  the  chase  :  and  I  will  seek  thee 

out 
Some  comfortable  bride  and  fair,  to  grace 
'I'hy  climbing   life,  and  cherish  my  prone 

year, 
rill  falling  into  Lot's  forgetfulness 
I  know  not  thee,  myself,  nor  anything. 
Stay,  my  best  son  1  ye  are  yet  more  boy  than 

man." 

Then   Gareth,  "An  ye  hold  me  yet  for 
child, 
Hear  yet  once  more  the  story  of  the  child, 
for,   mother,  there  was  once  a  King,  like 

ours ; 
The  prince  his  heir,  when  tall  and  marriage- 
able, 
Ask'd  for  a  bride;  and  thereupon  the  King 
Set  two  before  him.    One  was  fair,  strong, 

arm'd  — 
But  to  be  won  by  force  —  and  many  men 
Desired  her ;  one,  good  lack,  no  man  de- 
sired. 
And  these  were  the  conditions  of  the  King  : 
That  save  he  won  the  first  by  force,   he 

needs 
Must  wed  that  other,  whom  no  man  desired, 
A  red-faced  bride  who  knew  herself  so  vile. 
That  evermore  she  long'd  to  hide  herself, 
Nor  fronted  man  or  woman,  eye  to  eye  — 
Yea  —  some  she  cleaved  to,  but  they  died  of 

her. 
And  one  —  they  call'd  her  Fame;  and  one, 

O  Mother, 
How   can  ye  keep  me  tether'd  to  you  — 

Shame  I 
Man  am  I  grown,  a  man's  work  must  I  do. 
Follow  the  deer  ?   follow  the   Christ,    the 

King, 
Live  pure,  speak  true,  right  wrong,  follow 

the  King  — 
Else,  wherefore  born?" 

To  whom  the  mother  said, 
"Sweet  son,  for  there  be  many  who  deem 

him  not. 
Or   will    not   deem    him,    wholly    proven 

King— 


Albeit   in   mine   own   heart    I    knew  him 

King, 
When  I  was  frequent  with  him  in  my  youth, 
And  heard  him  Kingly  speak,  and  doubted 

him 
No  more  than  he,  himself;    but   felt  him 

mine. 
Of  closest  kin  to  me:  yet  — wilt  thou  leave 
Thine  easeful  biding  here,  and  risk  thine 

all. 
Life,  limbs,    for   one    that  is   not  proven 

King? 
Stay,   till  the  cloud  that  settles  round  his 

birth 
Hath  lifted  but  a  little.    Stay,  sweet  son." 

And  Gareth  answer'd  quickly,   "  Not  an 

hour, 
So  that  ye  yield  me  —  I  will  walk  thro'  fire. 
Mother,  to  gain  it  —  your  full  leave  to  go. 
Not  proven,  who  swept  the  dust  of  ruin'd 

Rome 
From  off  the  threshold  of  the  realm,  and 

crush'd 
The  Idolaters,  and  made  the  people  free  ? 
Who  should  be  King  save  him  who  makes 

us  free  ? " 

So  when  the  Queen,  who  long  had  sought 

in  vain 
To  break  him  from  the  intent  lo  which  he 

grew. 
Found  her  son's  will  unwaveringly  one. 
She  answer'd  craftily,  "Will  ye  walk  thro' 

fire? 
Who  walks  thro'  fire  will  hardly  heed  the 

smoke. 
Ay,  go  then,  an  ye  must :  only  one  proof. 
Before  tliou  ask  the  King  to  make  thee 

knight. 
Of  thine  obedience  and  thy  love  to  me, 
Thy  mother,  —  I  demand." 

And  Gareth  cried, 
"  A  hard  one,  or  a  hundred,  so  I  go. 
Nay  —  quick  I  the  proof  to  prove  me  to  the 
quick ! " 

But  slowly  spake  the  mother,  looking  at 

him, 
"  Prince,  thou  shall  go  disguised  to  Arthur's 

hall. 
And  hire  thyself  to  serve  for  meats  and 

drinks 
Among  the  scullions  and  the  kitchen-knaves. 
And  those  that  hand  the  dish  across  the 

bar. 
Nor  shah  thou  tell  thy  name  to  any  one. 
And  thou  shalt  serve  a  twelvemonth  and  a 

day." 

For  so  the  Queen  believed  that  when  her 
son 
Beheld  his  only  way  to  glory  lead 
Low  down  thro'  villain  kitchen-vassaiage. 
Her  own  true  Gareth  was  too  princely-proud 
To  pass  thereby  ;  so  should  he  rest  with  her, 
Closed  in  her  castle  from  the  sound  of  arm? 


heart    I    knew  him 

ith  him  in  my  youth, 
speak,  and  doubted 

nself;    but   felt  him 

;t  —  wilt  thou  leave 
lere,  and  risk  thine 

that  is   not  proven 

at  settles  round  his 

Stay,  sweet  son." 

I  quickly,   "  Not  an 

will  walk  thro'  fire, 
ir  full  leave  to  go. 
t  the  dust  of  riiin'd 

.  of  the  realm,  and 

s  the  people  free  ? 
ave  him  who  makes 

vho  long  had  sought 

intent  lo  which  he 

waveringly  one. 
Will  ye  walk  thro* 

ill  hardly  heed  the 

:  only  one  proof, 
Ung  to  make  thee 

thy  love  to  me, 
d." 

And  Gareth  cried, 
red,  so  I  go. 
■  to  prove  me  to  the 


mother,  looking  at 

isguised  to  Arthur's 

;rve  for  meats  and 

the  kitchen-knaves, 
he  dish  across  the 

ame  to  any  one. 
twelvemonth  and  a 

ev'ed  that  when  her 

lory  lead 
itclien-vassaiage, 
^  too  princely-proud 
ikl  he  rest  with  her, 
thQ  soun^  of  arm? 


An?ni;i?lVe"e?,^;Tour'?fc^^^^^^^ 

For  hence  w.ll  I,  disgufsed,  a'nd*"hi;e  my- 

^°  ''knavt"'  ''"'"°'"'  »"''  «"h  J'itchen- 
^°'    Kingy"'""'*'""'y-'>°.  not  the 

Gareth  awhile  lineer'd     Tli«  m«.i,    . 
Full  of  the  wistful  fear  that  he  rj^ito'^' 
And   turmng  .oward    him  whS.|?'  he 

Swept^benowing  thro'  the  darkness  on  to 
rL?!X''u\°"^  "'■  s'"n.ber callinR  two 

S^^e-l.,..ersof.eso. 

'5itd^mp'hr'-'''-"^'°'^yi"«'idair. 

S,        ■•   ''^■''  ''"*=  quicken'd  into 
And  the  live  green  had  kindled  into  flowers 
For  It  was  past  the  time  of  Easterday  ' 

So.  when  their  feet  were  pfanted  on  the 

At  t  mes  the  summitof  the  high  city  flash'd  • 
At  fm^esjhe  spires  and  tufrets'Valf-way 

^'^'1aSo!!l^"'--'»-s«''e  great 

Anan  '."if'  T",'i°"  '^«  ^e'^  below  : 
Anon,  the  wLole  fa,r  city  had  disappwr'd 

^''"aid.  '"'"'  """'  ^''"'  ^"^'^  ^^--e 
One  crying  "Let  us  go  no  farther  lord 
Rv  f!-"  V"y  °f  Enchanters,  bu."  '       ^• 
"^or7  ^'"g^-"    'Jl'e  second  echo'd  him 

hole''''  ^"'■'  '"'■°'"  °"^  wi«e  men^at 
To  Northward,  that  this  King  is  not  the 
But  only  changeling  n.,t  of  Fairvland 

aJ^"mT<'^'^,  ''""•^»  •^'^"^  by  sorcery 
AndMerhn'sglamour."  Then  the  fir'^i^-'n 

BuWav![^;!.V"-^'^-y-ywhe;e!^"''' 

WiiU  K.    u.  Gareth  answer'd  them 

IZt"'   '*"""«    ""  '">d  Sour 
^"  '"''ho'j:;^^'*^'  ^''  P""«dom,  youth  and 


GARETH  AND  LYNET'rE. 


307 

Th^  ['Pj.''^^ 'ike  an  ever-fleeting  wave 
Stretch'd  under  all  th/r^-        ^?°'"y  «™* 

NpJL  .C      ""^  ^  ^^^^  '"  we  rd  devices  done 
fc  n^P  ^"'^  "^^  co-twisted,  as  ffT°m|' 
VVVrf    °jj'"^'  '^  '"veterately,  that  men 
JVere  g.jdy  ga„„g  ,here  ;  and  over  all 
"'gn  on  the  top  were  thn^o  .l,,l.  A 

the  friends  ""^^  Queens, 

Of  Arthur,  who  should  help  him  at  his  need. 
Then^^tlu,se   with  Gareth   for  so  long  a 
Stared  at  the  figures,  that  at  last  it  seem'd 

lo  Gareth,  "Lord,  the  gateway  is  alive." 
-'^"''eyJs'''"''  ^'I'^wise  on  them  fixt  his 
^°  '"".^ove"*  *'''"  '°  '"■"'  ♦'"'y  ^«">'d  to 
&»Sr-KXee,.o 

vffaS^i;;^^^-:!^-". 
^^^^^^£^ 

^x'^^fLVlt  ^'l'"-'  ^'■PS='  and  Queens 
Or  whether  there  be  any  city  at  all. 
Or  all  a  vision  :  and  this  music  now 

t'heuuth  '''"•^°"''  ^"'  '""  "'""  ""=''« 

^''"'on*him°'''  ^'"  """''  answer  playing 

And   saying.  "Son,  I  have  seen  the  „«^ 
ship  sail  -  °-=° 

heavens.'"'*  *""''  downward  in  the 
And  solid  turrets  topsy-turvv  in  air- 


^'  ': 


3o8 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


m 


Toward  the  sunrise,  each  with  harp  in  hand, 
And  buiJt  it  to  the  music  of  their  harps. 
And  as  thou  safest,  it  is  enchanted,  son. 
For  there  is  no'  i'lg  in  it  as  it  seems 
Saving  the  Ki'    ;  tho'  some  there  be  that 

holu 
Tlie  King  a  shadow,  and  the  city  real : 
Yet  take  thou  heed  of  hira,  for,  so  thou  pass 
Beneath  this  archway,  then  wilt  thou  become 
A  thrall  to  his  enchantments,  for  the  King 
Will  bind  thee  by  such  vows,  as  is  a  shame 
A  man   should  not  be  bound   by,  yet  the 

which 
No  man  can  keep;  but,  so  thou  dread  to 

swear. 
Pass  not  beneath  this  gateway,  but  abide 
Without,  among  the  cattle  of  the  field, 
tor,  an  ye  heard  a  music,  like  enow 
They  are  building  still,  seeing  the  city  is 

built 
To  music,  therefore  never  built  at  all, 
And  therefore  I  lit  forever. 

Gareth  spake 
Anger'd,  "  Old  Master,  raverence  thine  own 

beard 
That   looks  as  white   as   utter   truth,  and 

seems 
Wellnigh  as  long  as  thou  are  statured  tall  1 
Why  mockest  thou  the  stranger  that  hath 

been 
To  thee  fair-spoken  ?  " 

But  the  Seer  replied, 
"Know  ye  not  then  the  Riddling  of  the 

Bards? 
'  Confusion,  and  illusion,  and  relation, 
Elusion,  and  occasion,  and  evasion  '  ? 
I  mock  thee  not  but  as  thou  mockest  me, 
And  all  that  see  thee,  for  thou  art  not  who 
Thou  peemest,  but  I  know  thee  who  thou  art. 
And  now  thou  goest  up  to  mock  the  King, 
Who  cannot  brook  the  shadow  of  any  lie." 

Unmockingly  the  mocker  ending  here 
Tum'd  t9  the   right,   and   past  along  the 

plain ; 
Whom    Gareth    looking   after   said,    "My 

men, 
Our  one  white  lie  sits  like  a  little  ghost 
Here  on  the  threshold  of  our  enterprise. 
Let  love  be  blamed  f^r  it,  not  she,  nor  I : 
Well,  we  will  make  amends." 

With  all  good  cheer 
He  spake  and  laugh'd,  then  enter'd  with 

his  twain 
Camelot,  a  city  of  shadowy  palaces, 
And  stately,  rich  in  emblnm  and  the  work  _ 
Of  ancient    Kings  who  did   their  days   in 

stone ; 
Which  Meriin's  hand,  the  Mage  at  Arthur's 

court, 
Knowing  all  arts,  had  touch'd,  and  every- 
where 
At  Arthur's  ordinr.nce,  tipt  with  lessening 
peaH 


And  pinnacle,  and  had  made  it  spire  to 

heaven. 
And  ever  and  anon  a  knight  would  pass 
Outward,  or  inward  to  the  hall :  his  arms 
Clash'd ;  and  the  sound  was  good  to  Gareth's 

ear. 
And  out  of  bower  and  casement  shyly  glanced 
Eyes  of  pure  women,  wholesome  stars  of 

love; 
And  all  about  a  healthful  people  stept 
As  in  the  pr-jsence  of  a  gracious  king. 

Then  into  hall  Gareth  ascending  heard 
A  voice,  the  voice  of  Arthur,  and  beheld 
Far  over  heads  in  that  long-vaulted  hall 
The  splendor  of  the  presence  of  the  King 
Throned,  and  delivering  doom  —  and  look'd 

no  more — 
But  felt  his  young  heart  hammering  in  his 

ears, 
And  thought,  "  For  this  half-shadow  of  a  lie 
The  truthful  King  will  doom  me  whan  I 

speak." 
Yet  pressing  on,  tho'  all  in  fear  to  find 
Sir  Gawain  or  Sir  Modred,  saw  nor  one 
Nor  other,  but  in  all  the  listening  eyes 
Of  those  tall  knights,  that  ranged  about  the 

throne, 
Clear  honor  shining  like  the  dewy  star 
Of  dawn,  and  faith  in  their  great  King,  with 

pure 
Affection,  and  the  light  of  victory. 
And  glory  gain'd,  and  evermore  to  gain. 

Then  came  a  widow  crying  to  the  King, 
"A  boon,  Sir   King!    Thy  father,  Uther, 

reft 
From  my  dead  lord  a  field  with  violence : 
For  howsoe'er  at  first  he  proffer'd  gold. 
Yet,  for  the  field  was  pleasant  in  our  eyes, 
We  yielded  not ;  and  then  he  reft  us  of  it 
Perforce,  and  left  us  neither  gold  nor  field." 

Said  Arthur,  "  Whether  would  ye  ?  gold  or 
field?" 
To  whom  the  woman  weeping,  "  Nay,  my 

lord. 
The  field  was  pleasant  in  my  husband's  eye." 

And  Arthur,   "  Have   thy  pleasant  field 

again, 
And  thrice  the  gold  for  Uther's  use  thereof. 
According  to  the  years.     No  boon  is  here, 
But  justice,  so  thy  say  be  proven  true. 
Accursed,  <vho  from  the  wrongs  his  father 

did 
Would  shape  himself  a  right ! " 

And  while  she  past. 
Came  yet  another  widow  crying  to  him, 
"  A  boon.  Sir  King !    Thine  enemy.  King, 

am  I. 
With  thine  own  hand  thou  slewest  my  dear 

lord, 
A  knight  of  Uther  in  the  Barons'  war, 
When    Lot   and   many  another   rose    and 

fought 
Against  thee,  saying  thou  wert  basely  bprn, 


made  it  spire  to 

ht  would  pass 
:  hall :  his  arms 
u  good  to  Gareth's 

ment  shyly  glanced 
holesome  stars  of 

people  stept 
acious  king- 

scending  heard 
Mr,  and  Deheld 
ig-vaulted  hall 
nee  of  the  King 
loom — and  look'd 

hammering  in  his 

alf-shadow  of  a  lie 
doom  me  when  I 

1  fear  to  find 
I,  saw  nor  one 
iStening  eyes 
:  ranged  about  the 

he  dewy  star 

ir  great  King,  with 

'  victory, 
rmore  to  gain. 

ing  to  the  King, 
?hy  father,  Utner, 

I  with  violence : 
iroffer'd  gold, 
sant  in  our  eyes, 
I  he  reft  us  of  it 
er  gold  nor  field." 

■  would  ye  ?  gold  or 

ieping,  "Nay,  my 

ny  husband's  eye." 

thy  pleasant  field 

ther's  use  thereof, 
No  boon  is  here, 
proven  true, 
wrongs  his  father 

ght!" 

Lnd  while  she  past, 
:rying  to  him, 
(line  enemy,  King, 

lu  slewest  my  dear 

Barons'  war, 
another   rose   and 

wert  basely  bprp, 


GAX£t//  A^D  tYNMTt£. 


Th'Jn.ll'^^J'"''''^",'''''  '"■°"^«'-  had  my  son 
deld  ^'*  "*     •  ^"'^  '''"*'  ^'^'"^"^  •>'"' 

Whlh'th''"!'^'""''?''  °^  "'»'  inheritance 
Which  thou  that  slewest  the  sire  hast  left  the 

r«*I'<°'J  ^"'■"  ?"■  ^?^  ■'  »hee  for  hate, 
Orant  me  some  knight  to  do  the  battle  for 
me. 

KiU  the  loul  thief,  and  wreak  me  for  my  son." 
^*?o'h^m  *  a  good  knight  forward,  crying 

Gi^^''^r',^''  ^i"8 '    I  a"i  her  kinsman,  I. 
Give  me  to  right  her  wrong,  and  slay  the 
man. 

■^hen^came  Sir  Kay,  the  seneschal,  and 

"A  boon.  Sir  King  I  ev'n  that  thou  grant 
her  none,  * 

*  'hall—*'"'  ''*"'  nocVC  thee  in  full 

None ;  or  the  wholesome  boon  of  gyve  and 

But  Arthur,  "We  sit.  King,  to  help  the 
wrong'd 
Thro*  all  j)ur  realm.    The  woman  loves  her 

Peace  to  thee,  woman,  with  thy  loves  and 

The  kings  of  old  had  doom'd  thee  to  the 

flames, 
Aurelius  Emrys  would  have  scoureed  thee 

And  Uther  slit  thy  tongue :  but  get  thee 

hence— 
Lest  that  rough  humor  of  the  kings  of  old 
Return  upon  me  I    Thou  that  artlier  kin. 
Go  hkewise;  lay   him  low  and   slay  him 

not, 

^"*  ''ri"f  t"*""  ''*"'  '''*'  ^  "''^  ^"^^®  'he 
According  to  the  justice  of  the  King : 

wL"'i-  ^J"*  ^j"'i'y'>/  *hat  deathless  King 
Who  lived  and  died  for  men,  the  man  shil 

Then  came  in  hall  the  messenger  of  Mark. 
A  name  of  evil  savor  in  the  landT  ' 

Wh.F^^ri^'"?.^-     ^"  ?'*her  hand  he  bore 
A  fipU^f"K'^  f "•,  ^'^    ?'"»"«  '■'^-°ff  as  shines 
A  field  of  charlock  in  the  sudden  sun 

wwt^".'*°  ihowrers  a  cloth  of  palest  gold. 
Which  down  he  laid  before  the  tTrone,  and 

KI1Cit| 

Deliverincr.  that  hU  T-^H    t^^ '  *-!    - 

W'as  ev'n  upon  his  way  to  Camelot ; 
For  having  lieard  that  Arthur  of  his  grace 
Mad    made    his   goodly    Cousin,   Tristram. 

knight,  ' 

Rril'J°''J'.'"'*l'f '^as  of  the  greater  state, 
Being  a  king,  he  trusted  hPs  liege-lord 
Would  yieia  him  this  laige  Honor  all  the 
mora; 


S°  P''='y|jdj  him  well  to  accept  this  cloth  of 

In  token  of  true  heart  and  fealty. 

'^"hen^^'-thur  cried  to  rend  the  cloth,  to 

In  pieces,  nnd  so  cast  it  on  the  hearth. 

°' kni^htT""'*''"'^'*  '''^'*'   "  '^^^ 8'^'^'y 

^^''^'  IhMe  ?  '^^  ""^'"^^  °^  ^^'''^  "*"''  »™°"8 
For,  midway  down  the  side  of  that  lone  hall 
tZ'tr  P'V^'^^^l°'"»'°"g  'he  fron\ 

blank        ^"""^         ""^"'  ^"'^  *°'"e 

l^VJ  "V''l^>!?  ''"g.^  ofs'ony  shields,- 
hea  h    ^^'''^'■'=h'"g    overbrow'd    the 

And  under  every  shield  a  knight  was  named  • 
For  this  was  Arthur's  custoin  in  his  haT     ' 

His  arms  were  carven  only  ;  but  if  twain 
His  arms  were  blazon'd  also  ;  but  if  none 
The  shield  was  blank  and  bare  without  a 

f  h^*"!!,-  I!l"^'?^^^"^?'h  :  and  Gareth  saw 
Kht  *      blazon'd  rich  and 

"^""^  ^crifd '*''  blank  as  death;  and  Arthur 
To  rend  the  cloth  and  cast  it  on  the  hearth. 
"More  like  are  we  to  reave  him  of  his 
''^han  m^e  him  knight  because  men  caU 
The  l''ngs  we  found,  ye  know  we  stay'd  their 

From  war  among  themselves,  but  lefl  them 
kings;  •  ""' 

Of  whom  were  any  bounteous,  merciful, 

enrofr       "*'  ^°°^  "^'"'  "^^'"  '*« 
Among  us,  and  they  sit  within  our  hall. 
But  Mark  hath  tamish'd  the  great  name  of 

As  Mark  would  sully  the  low  state  of  churl : 
Ana,  seeing  he  hath  sent  us  cloth  of  gold. 
Return,  and  meet,  and  hold  him  from  our 

eyes, 
Lest  we  should  lap  him  up  in  cloth  of  lead. 
Silenced  forever  -  craven  -  a  man  of  plots, 
craft,  poisonous  counsels,  wayside  ambush- 

ings  — 
Y^  ^""  °f 'hine  :  let  Kay,  the  seneschal, 
Look  to  thy  wants,  and  send  thee  satisfied  — 
Accursed,  who  stnkes  nor  lete  the  hand  be 

seen  I 

W^Sl?*"''  another  suppliant  crying  came 
With  noise  of  ravage  wrought  by  beast  and 

man. 
And  evermore  a  knight  would  ride  away. 

Last  Gareth  leaning  both  hands  heavily 
Down  on  the  shoulders  of  the  twain,  his 

tUUkf 


3tD 


HARMT/f  AND  L V^M TtE. 


Ili'i 


Approach'd  between  them  toward  the  King, 
and  ask'd, 

"A  boon,  Sir  King  (his  voice  was  all 
ashamed), 

For  see  ye  not  how  weak  and  hungerwom 

I  seem  — leaning  on  these?  grant  me  tc 
serve 

For  meat  and  drink  among  thy  kitchen- 
knaves 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day,  nor  seek  my 
name. 

Hereafter  I  will  fight." 

,  To  him  .he  King, 

A  goodly  youth    and   worth    a   goodlier 
boon  I 
But  an  thou  wilt  no  goodlier,  then  must 

The  master  of  the  meats  and  drinks  be 
thme." 

He  rose  and  past ;  then  Kay,  a  man  of 
mien 
Wan-sallow  as  the  plant  that  feels  itself 
Root-bitten  by  white  lichen, 

_,,   ,„  "Lo  ye  now  I 

Ihis  fellow  hath  broken  from  some  Abbey, 

where, 
God  wot,  he  had  not  beef  and  brewis  enow, 
However   that  might  chancel    but  an   he 

work, 
Like  any  pigeon  will  I  cram  his  crop, 
And  sleeker  shall  he  shine  than  any  hog." 

Then  Lancelot  standing  near,  "  Sir  Senes- 
chal, 
Sleuth-hound  thou  knowest,  and  gray,  and 

all  the  hounds ; 
A  horse  thou  knowest,  a  man  thou  dost  not 

know : 
Broad  brows  and  fair,  a  fluent  hair  and  fine. 
High  nose,  a  nostril   large   and   fine,  and 

hands 
Large,  fair  and  fine  !  —  Some  young  lad's 

mystery  — 
But,  or  from  sheepcot  or  king's  hall,  the 

boy 
Is  noble-natured.    Treat  him  with  all  grace. 
Lest  he  should  come  to  shame  thy  judging 

ofhim." 

Then  Kay,  "What  murmurest  thou  of 
mystery  ? 

Think  ye  this  fellow  will  poison  the  King's 
dish  f 

Nay,  for  he  spake  too  fool-like  :  mystery  ! 

Tut,  an  the  lad  were"  noble,  he  had  ask'd 

For  horse  and  armor:  fair  and  fine,  for- 
sooth 1 

Sir  Fine-face,  Sir  Fair-hands?  but  see  thou 
to  it 

That  thine  own  fineness,  Lancelot,  some  fine 
day 

Undo  thee  not  —  and  leave  my  man  to  me." 

So  Oareth  all  for  glory  underwent 
The  sooty  yoke  of  kitchen  vassalage ; 


Ate  wrth  young  lads  his  portion  by  the  door. 
And  couch'd  at  night  with  grimy  kitchen- 
knaves. 
And  Lancelot  ever  spake  him  pleasantly, 
But  Kav  the  seneschal  who  ioved  him  not 
Would  hustle  and  harry  him,  and  labor  him 
Beyond  his  comrade  of  the  hearth,  and  set 
To  turn  the  broach,   draw  water,  or  hew 

wood. 
Or  grosser  tasks  ;  and  Gareth  bow'd  himself 
With  all  obedience  to  the  King,  and  wrought 
All  kind  of  service  with  a  noble  ease 
That  graced  the  lowliest  act  in  doing  it. 
And  when  the  thralls  had  talk  among  them- 
selves. 
And  one  would  praise  the  love  that  linkt  the 

King 
And  Lancelot  —  how  the  King  had  saved  his 

life 
In   battle   twice,    and   Lancelot   once   the 

King's  — 
For  Lancelot  was  the  first  in  Tournament, 
But  Arthur  mightiest  on  the  battle-field  — 
Gareth  was  glad.    Or  if  some  other  told. 
How  once  the  wandering  forester  at  dawn, 
Far  over  the  blue  tarns  and  hazy  seas. 
On  Caer-Eryri's  highest  found  the  King, 
A  naked  babe,  of  whom  the  Prophet  spake. 

He  passes  to  the  Isle  Avilion, 
He  passes  and  is  heal'd  and  cannot  die  "  — 
Gareth      as  glad.     But  if  their  talk  were 

foul. 
Then  would  he  wh!-.;;!.  rapid  as  any  lark. 
Or  carol  some  old  roundelay,  and  so  loud 
That  first  they  mock'd,  but,  after,  reverencH 

him. 
Or  Gareth  telling  some  prodigious  tale 
Of  knights,  who  sliced  a  red  life-bubbling 

way 
Thro'  twenty  folds  of  twisted  dragon*  held 
All  ina  gapmouth'dcircle  his  good  mates 
Lying  or  sitting  round  him,  idle  hands, 
Charm'd  ;  till  Sir  Kay,  the  seneschal,  would 

come 
Blustering  upon  them,  like  a  sudden  wind 
Among   dead  leaves,    and  drive    them  all 

apart. 
Or  when  the  thralls  had  sport  among  them- 
selves. 
So  there  were  any  '.rial  of  mastery. 
He,  by  two  yards  in  casting  bar  or  stone 
Was  counted  best;  and  if  there  chanced  a 

joust. 
So  that  Sir  Kay  nodded  him  leave  to  go. 
Would  hurry  thither,  and  when  he  saw  the 

knights 
Clash  like  the  coming  and  retiring  wave, 
And  the  spear  spring,  and  good  horse  reel, 

the  Doy 
Was  half  beyond  himself  for  ecstasy. 

So  for  a  month  he  wrought  among  the 

thralls ; 
But  in  the  weeks  that  follow'd,   the  good 

Queen, 
Repentant  of  the  word  she  made  him  swear, 
And  saddening  in  her  childless  castle,  sent. 
Between  '''*.  mcrescent  and  decrescent  moon, 


GAli£TH  A  My  LYN^TTE. 


ortion  by  the  door, 
ith  grimy  kitchen* 

him  pleasantly, 
lo  loved  him  not 
im,  and  labor  him 
e  hearth,  and  set 
»w  water,   or  hew 

reth  bow'd  himself 
King,  and  wrought 
noble  ease 
ct  in  doing  it. 
talk  among  them- 

love  that  linkt  the 

King  had  saved  his 

ancelot   once   the 

in  Tournament, 
lie  battle-field  — 
)me  other  told, 
"orester  at  dawn, 
d  hazy  seas, 
>und  the  King, 
e  Prophet  spake, 
ilioD, 

id  cannot  die"  — 
f  their  talk  were 

lid  as  any  lark, 
ly,  and  so  loud 
t,  after,  reverenct  4 

idigious  tale 
red  life-bubbling 

ed  dragon,  held 
his  good  mates 
,  idle  hands, 
!  seneschal,  would 

a  sudden  wind 
I  drive    them  all 

•ort  among  them- 

aastery, 
;  bar  or  stone 
there  chanced  a 

n  leave  to  go, 
vhen  he  saw  the 

retiring  wave, 
good  horse  reel, 

r  ecstasy. 

lught  among  the 

llow'd,  the  good 

made  him  swear, 
less  castle,  sent, 
decrescent  moon, 


Arms  for  her  son,  and  loosed  him  from  his 
vow. 

,.J!''^'iP*''^.'''  hearing  from  a  squire  of  Lot 
With  whom  he  used  »o  play  at  tourney  once, 
When    both  were  children,  and    in   lonely 

haunts 
Would  scr;itch  a  ragged  oval  on  the  sand. 

And  each  at  either  dash  from  either  end 

Shame  never  made  girl  redder  than  Gareth 
•   joy.  I 

He   laugh'd ;   he   sprang.     "  Out    of  the 

smoke,  at  once 
I  leap  from  Satan's  foot  to  Peter's  knee  — 
These  news  be  mine,  none  other's  —  nay,  the 

King's  — 
Descend  into  the  city  "  :  whereon  he  sout;ht 
The  King  alone,  and  found,  and  told  iiim 

all. 

"  I  have  stagger'd  thy  strong  Gawain  in  a 

tilt 
For  pastime  ;  yea,  he  said  it :  joust  can  I. 
Make  ma  thy  knight  — in  secret  I  let  my 

name 
Be  hidd  [n,   and  give  me  the  first  quest,  I 

spring 
Like  flame  from  ashes." 

-  „  ,    ,      Here  the  King's  calm  eye 

*ell  on,  and  check'd,  and  made  him  fl:ish, 

and  bow 
Lowly,  to  kiss  his  hand,  who  auswer'd  him. 
Son,  the  good  mother  let  me  know  thee 

here, 
'  And  sent  her  wish  that  I  would  yield  thee 

thine. 
Make  thee    my  knight?    my   knights    are 

sworn  to  vows 
Of  utter  hardihood,  utter  gentleness. 
And  loving,  utter  faithfulness  in  love, 
And  uttermost  obedience  to  the  King." 

Then   Gareth,  lightly  springing  from  his 
knees, 
"  My  King,  for  hardihood  I  can   promise 

then. 
For  uttermost  obedience  make  demand 
Of  whom  ye  gave  me  to,  the  Seneschal, 
No  mellow  master  of  the  meats  and  drinks  I 
And  as  for  love,  God  wot.  I  love  not  vet. 
But  love  I  shall,  God  willing  " 


3tt 


«i  »*  I     ,1.  ...         And  the  King  — 

Make  thee  my  knight  in  secret  ?  yea,  but 

* 

Our  noblest  brother,  and  ourtrUest  man. 
And  one  with  me  in  all,  he  needs  must 
knc  .." 

"  ^i'  ^?"*^cJot  know,  my  King,  let  Lance- 
lot know. 
Thy  noblest  and  thy  truest  I " 

,  _        ,       ,  And  the  King  — 

,  But  wherefore  would  ye  men  should  won- 
der at  you  ? 
Nay,  rather  for  the  sAke  of  me,  their  Xing, 


And  the  deed's  sake  my  knighthood  do  the 

deed, 
Than  to  be  noised  of." 

„  „        .  . ,    Merrily  Gareth  ask'd. 

Have  I  not  earn 'd  my  cake  in  baking  of 
it? 
Let  be  my  name  until  I  make  my  name  ! 
My  deeds  will  speak  :  it  is  but  for  a  day." 
So  with  a  kindly  hand  on  Gareth'sarm 
Smiled  the  great  King,  and  half-unwillingly 
Loving  his  lusty  youthhood  yielded  to  him. 
Ihen,  alter  summoning  Lancelot  privily, 
I  have  given  him  the  first  quest :  he  is  not 
proven. 
Look  therefore  when  he  calls  for  this  in 

hall, 
Thou  get  to  horse  and  follow  him  far  away 
Lover  the  lions  on  thy  shield,  and  see 
Far  as    thou  mayest,  he  be  nor  U'en  nor 
slain." 

Then  that  same  day  there  past  into  the 

riall 
A  damsel  of  high  lineage,  and  a  brow 
May-blossom,  and  a  cheek  of  apple-blossom. 
Hawk-eyes;    and  lightly  was    her   slender 

nose 
Tip-tilted  like  the  petal  of  a  flower ; 
She  into  liall  past  with  her  page  and  cried, 

"  O  King,  for  thou  hast  driven  the  foe  with- 
out. 
See  to  the  foe  within  !  bridge,  ford,  beset 
By  bandits,  every  one  that  owns  a  tower 
The  Lord  for  half  a  league.     Why  sit  ye 

there  ?  ' 

Rest   would    I   not,   Sir    King,  an  I  were 

king. 
Till  ev'n  the  lonest  hold  were  all  as  free 
From  cursed  bloodshed,  as  thine  altar-cloth 
*rom  that  blest  blood  it  is  a  sin  to  spill." 

"  Comfort  thyself,"  said  Arthur,  "  I  nor 

mine 
Rest :  so  my  knighthood  keep  the  vows  they 

swore. 
The  wastest  mooriand  of  our  realm  shall  be 
Safe,  damsel,  as  the  centre  of  this  hall. 
What  IS  thy  name  ?  thy  need  ? 


„  T  "  My  name  ?"  she  said  — 

l.ynette    my  name ;   noble  ;   my  need,  a 

knight 
To  combat  for  my  sister,  Lyonors, 
A  lady  of  high  lineage,  of  great  lands. 
And  comely,  yea,  and  comeiier  than  myself. 
She  lives  in  Castle  Perilous  :  a  river 
Runs  in  »hr.-c  !.-,ops  about  her  living-place  ; 
And  o  er  it  are  three  passings,  and  three 

knights 
Defend  the  passings,  brethren,  and  a  fourth, 
And  of  that  four  the  mightiest,  holds  her- 

stay'd 
In  her  own  castle  and  so  besieges  her 
To  break  her  will,  and  make  her  wed  with 

him; 


t  i 


3ti 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


I  I 


And  but  delays  his  purport  till  thou  send 
To  do  the  battle  with  him,  thy  chief  man 
Sir  Lancelot  whom  he  trusts  to  overthrow, 
Then  wed,  with  glory ;  but  ^he  will  not  wed 
Save  whom  she  loveth,  or  a  holy  life. 
Now  therefore  have  I  come  for  Lancelot." 

Then  Arthur  mindful  of  Sir  Gareth  ask'd, 
"  Damsel,  ye  know  this  Order  lives  to  crush 
All  wrongers  of  the  Realm.    But  say,  these 

four, 
Who  be  they  ?     What  the  fashion  of  the 

men?*' 

"  Thejr  be  of  foolish  fashion,  O  Sir  King, 
The  fashion  of  that  old  knight-errantry 
Who  ride  abroad  and  do  but  what  they  will ; 
Courteous  or  bestial  from  the  moment. 
Such  as  have  nor  law  nor  king ;  and  three  of 

these 
Proud  in  their  fantasy  call  themselves  the 
Day, 
lorning-Star,  and  Noon-Sun,  and  Evening- 
Star, 
ing  strong  fools ;  and  never  a  whit  more 
wise 
The  fourth,  who  alway  rideth  arm'd  in  black, 
A  huge  man-beast  of  boundless  savagery. 
He  names  himself  the  Night  and  oftener 

Death, 
And  wears  a  helmet  mounted  with  a  skull 
And  bears  a  skeleton  figured  on  his  arms. 
To  show  that  who  may  slay  or  scape  the 

three 
Slain  by  himself  shall  enter  endless  night. 
And  all  these  four  be  fools,  but  mighty  men. 
And  therefore  am  I  come  for  Lancelot." 

Hereat  Sir  Gareth  call'd  from  where  he 
rose, 
A  head  with  kindling  eyes  above  the  throng, 
"  A  boon.  Sir  King—  this  quest !  "  then  — 
for  he  mark'd 
,  Kay  near  him  groaning  like  a  wounded  bull — 
"  Yea,   King,   thou    knowest    thy   kitchen- 
knave  am  I, 
And  mighty  thro'  thy  meats  and  drin ,    am  I, 
And  I  can  topple  over  a  b'ndred  such. 
Thy  promise,  King,"  and  irthur  glancing  at 

him. 
Brought  down  a  momentary  brow.   "  Rough, 

sudden, 
And  pardonable,  worthy  to  be  knight  — 
Go  therefore,"  and  all  hearers  were  amazed. 

But  on  the  damsel's  forehead  shame,  pride, 
wrath. 
Slew  the  May-white :  she  lifted  either  arm, 
"  Fie  on  thee.  King  !    I  ask'd  for  thy  chief 

knight. 
And  ihou    hast  given  me  but  a  kitchen- 
knave." 
Then  ere  a  man  in  hall  could  stay  her.  tum'd. 
Fled  down  the  lane  of  access  to  the  King, 
Took  horse,  descended  the  slope  street,  and 

past 
The  weird  white  gate,  and  paused  without, 
beside 


The  field  of  tourney,  murmuring  "  kitchen- 
knave." 

Now  two  great  entries  open'd  from  the 

hall. 
At  one  end  one,  thyt  gave  upon  a  range 
Of  level  pavement  where  the  King  would 

P?ce 
At  sunrise,  gazing  over  plain  and  wood. 
And  down  from  this  a  lordly  staii-way  sloped 
Till  lost  in  blowing  trees  and  top^  of  to>|Mrs. 
And  out  by  this  main  doorway  past  the  King. 
But  one  was  counter  to  the  hearth,  and  rose 
High  that  the  highest-crested  helm  could  ride 
Therethro'  nor  graze  :  and  by  this  entry  fled 
The  'amsel  in  her  wrath,  and  on  to  this 
Sir  Gareth  strode,  and  saw  without  the  door 
King  Arthur's  gift,  the  w  .irth  of  half  a  town, 
A  warhorse  of  the  best,  i  id  near  it  stood 
The  two  that  out  of  north  had  follow'd  him. 
This  bare  a  maiden  shield,  a  casque ;  that  held 
The  horse,  the  spear;  whereat  Sir  Gareth 

loosed 
A  cloak  that  dropt  from  collar-bone  to  heel, 
A  cloth  of  roughest  web,  and  cast  it  down, 
And  from  it  like  a  fuel-smother'd  fire. 
That   lookt    half-dead,   brake   bright,   and 

flash'd  as  those 
Di    -coated  things,  that  making  slide  apart 
Their  dusk  wing-cases,  all  beneath    there 

burns 
A  jewel'd  harness,  ere  they  pass  and  fly. 
So  Gareth  ere  he  parted  flashed  in  arms. 
Then  while  he  donn'd  the  helm,  and  took 

the  shield 
And  mounted  horse  and  graspt  a  spear,  of 

grain 
Storm-strengthen'd  on  a  windj[  site,  and  tipt 
With  trenchant  steel,  around  him  slowly  prest 
The  people,  and  from  out  of  kitchen  came 
The  thralls  in  throng,  and  seeing  who  had 

work'd 
Lustier  than  any,  and  whom  they  could  but 

love, 
Mounted  in  arms,  threw  up  their  caps  and 

cried, 
"  God  bless  the  King,  and  all  his  fellow- 
ship!" 
And  on  thro'  lanes  of  shouting  Gareth  rode 
Down  the  slope  street,  and  past  without  the 

gate. 

So  Gareth  past  with  joy  ;  but  as  the  cur 
Pluckt  from  the  cur  he  fights  with,  ere  his 

cause 
Be  cool'd  by  fighting,  follows,  being  named, 
His  owner,  out  remembers  all,  and  growls 
Remembering,  so  Sir  Kay  beside  the  doof 
Mutter'd  in  scorn  of  Gareth  whom  he  used 
To  harry  and  hustle. 

"  Bound  upon  a  quest 
With  horse  and  arms  —  the  King  hath  past 

his  time  — 
My  scullion  knave  I    Thralls  to  your  work 

again. 
For  an  your  fire  be  low  ye  kindle  mine  I 
Will  there  be  dawn  in  W«st  and  eve  in  East? 


urmuring  "  kitchen- 


is  open'd  from  the 

e  upon  a  range 

re  tne  King  would 

lain  and  wood. 
rdly  staii-way  sloped 
and  top'o  of  towprs. 
orway  past  the  King, 
he  hearth,  and  rose 
:sted  helm  could  ride 
nd  by  this  entry  fled 
,  and  on  to  this 
Lw  without  the  door 
lorth  of  half  a  town, 
i  id  near  it  stood 
1  had  follow'd  him. 
i,  a  casque ;  that  held 
whereat  Sir  Gareth 

collar-bone  to  heel, 
,  and  cast  it  down, 
mother'd  fire, 
brake   bright,  and 

making  slide  apart 
all  beneath    there 

hey  pass  and  fly. 
flashed  in  arms, 
the  helm,  and  took 

d  graspt  a  spear,  of 

windy  site,  and  tipt 
und  him  slowly  prest 
t  of  kitchen  came 
md  seeing  who  had 

lom  they  could  but 
r  up  their  caps  and 
and  all  his  fellow- 
outing  Gareth  rode 
and  past  without  the 


}y ;  but  as  the  cur 
fights  with,  ere  his 

Hows,  being  named, 
irs  all,  and  growls 
\y  beside  the  door 
eth  whom  he  used 


Bound  upon  a  quest 
■  the  King  hath  past 

hralls  to  your  work 

ye  kindle  mine  t 
«st  and  eve  in  East? 


Gareth  AtfD  LVnette. 


Begone  I  —  my  knave  !  -  belike  and  like  enow 

So  shook  Im  wits  the^r  wander  in  his  prime  -- 
Crazed  I    How  the  villain  lifted  up  hWoke 
Nor  shamed  to  bawl  himself  a  kitcKen  knave' 

T^l  peacock  d  up  wuh  Lancelot's  noticing. 
Whetr^r  h-  i'"'^"'"  '"yjoud^nave,  and  lefm 
0^,t  «,-fh       know  me  for  his  master  yet. 
Ho  d    hv  r°>  •"*  came  and  so  my  lance 
ni^re-         *''^"'   ***  ^''^^  '"'°  ">« 

lill^T:  "^""u  ^'"«  *^''">  '■'°'n  his  craze, 
into  the  smoke  again."  — »"■>!, 

"  Ka«  «,!,«„<■  11  ^"'  Lancelot  said. 
For  tLT!^i5  ''  *l"  y«  go  against  the  King 
*or  that  did  never  he  whereon  ye  rail. 

Ah//.";r"''^  ^^'r^  "'«  King  "  thee? 
Abide :    ake  counsel ;.  for  this  lad  is  grea 

swo^d"     ''"°*'"g  ''°"'  of  'ance  and 

"^"*'fi'ne  "°'  """'"  ^'^  ^'y*  "y*  *'*  °*"- 
Thill^'m*'"".'  knaves  with  foolish  courtesies." 
no^^^S""'?*^'  °"  ?'''°  «"™t  faces  rode 
Down  the  slope  city,  and  out  beyond  the 

Sale* 

But  by  the  field  of  tourney  lingerine  vet 
Muttered  the  damsel,  "  Wherefore  difthe 

Scorn  me?  for,  were  Sir  Lancelot  lackt,  at 


least 

WKr'M!'r''Vj'?'',^^''  *°  ""«  o"e  of  those 
rI^w'.'J"'  '"'k's  love  and  glory  here, 
Kather^than^— O  sweet  heaven  I  O  fie  upon 

His  kitchen-knave." 

f  An,i  ti,»,.-  „         "^^  ''.''om  Sir  Gareth  drew 
(And  tWe  were  none  but  few  goodlier  than 

Shining  in  arms,  "Damsel,  the  quest  is  mine 
Lead,  and  I  follow."  She  thereat  ainn^ 
That  smells  a  foul-flesh'd 'agaridn'  fhVhoIt, 
And  deems  itcarnon  of  somi woodland  thfng, 
With  'r:^;,?,^?^"''  ^'P'  h"  slender  nose^' 
'MHencel  ^^"  shrilling. 

Avoid,  thou  smellest  all  of  kitchen-grease. 
And  lo^k  who  comes  behind,"  for  tW  was 

"Knowe«  thou  not  me?  thy  master?  I  am 

We  lack  thee  by  the  hearth." 

I.  vr    .  .  And  Gareth  to  him. 

Master  no  more  I  too  well  I  know  f  h^e.  a"- 
ihe  most  ungentle  knight  in  Arthur'"s  hafl." 

Have  at  , thee  then,"  said  Kay:  th^y 
shock'd,  and  Kay  ^  ' 

Fell  shoulder-slipt,  and  Gareth  cried  again. 

Lead,  and  I  folTow,"  and  fast  away  shI  fled. 

tJ.?"'i  u®""  «od  and  shingle  ceased  to  fly 
Behind  her,  and  the  heart  of  her  good  horse 

'1 


3t3 

Was  nigh  to  burst  with  violence  of  the  beat, 
i'erforce  she  stay'd,  and  overtaken  spoke. 

"What  doest  thou,  scullion,  in  my  fellow- 
ship? 
Deem'st  thou  that  I  accept  thee  aught  the 
more 

F.'iil?''  *''!.1  '""'u'-  *''="  ^y  ^ome  device 
Full  cow.-.rdly,  or  by  mere  unhappinesJ 
Thou  J^^l^overOirown  and  slain  thy  master 

Dish-washer  and  broach-turner,  loon  1  — to 
me 

Thou  smellest  all  of  kitchen  as  before." 

"DanweV"  Sir  Gareth  answer'd  gently. 
Whate'er  ye  will,  but  whatsoe'er  ye  say. 
tetCreft.?.'^""'''''''^-'*-*. 

Sweetlord.>owlike*;^nVi'^4TtKia 
llie  hstMing  rogue  hath  caught  the  manner 

^"*'    kn*^''  '°°°  "'°"  *''*''  ^*  ™*'  ^''h. 
And  then  by  such  a  one  that  thou  for  all 
1  he  kitchen  brewis  that  was  ever  supt 
ishalt  not  once  dare  to  look  him  in  the  face." 

Tk'  ^  shall  assav,"  said  Gareth  with  a  smile 
ihat  madden'd  her,  and  away  she  flash'd 

again 

Down  the  long  avenues  of  a  boundless  wood. 
And  Oareth  following  was  again  beknaved. 

"Sir  Kitchen-knave,  I  have  miss'd  the 
only  way 
Where  Arthur's  men  are  set  along  the  wood  ; 
1  he  wood  IS  nigh  as  fiill  of  thieves  as  leaves : 
It  both  be  slam,  I  am  rid  of  thee ;  but  yet, 
oir  Scullion,  canst  thou  use  that  spit  of  thine  ? 
fight,  an  thou  canst:  I  have  miss'd  the 
only  way. 

So  till  the  dusk  that  followed  evensong 
Rode  on  the  two,  reviler  and  reviled  : 
Then  after  one  long  slope  was  mounted,  saw. 
Bowl-shaped,  thro^  tops  of  many  thousand 

pines 
A  gloomy-gladed  hollow  slowly  sink 
To  westward  — in  the  deeps  whereof  a  mere. 
Round  as  the  red  eye  of  an  Eagle-owl, 
Under  the  half-dead  s-nset  glared  ;  and  cries 
Ascended,  and  there  brake  a  servingman 
Fiyng  from  out  of  the  black  wood,  and  crying, 
They  have  bound  my  lord  to  cast  him  in 
the  mere." 
Then  Gareth,   "Bound  am  I  to  right  the 

wrong'd, 

But  straither  bound  am  I  to  bide  with  thee." 

And  when  the  damsel  spake  contemptuously, 

Lead  and  1  follow,"  6areth  cried  again, 

Fol  ow,  I  lead  I "  so  down  among  the  pines 

He  plunged,  and  there,  black-shadow'd  nigh 

the  mere. 
And  raid-thigh-deep  in  bulrushes  and  reed, 


S>4 


GARETH  and  LYNkTtS. 


Saw  six  tall  men  haling  a  seventh  along, 
A  .tone  about  iiis  n«ck  to  drown  him  in  it. 
Three  with  good  blows  he  quieted,  but  three 
Fled  thro'  the  pines ;  and '  Gareth  loosed 

the  stone 
From  ofThis  neck,  then  in  the  mere  beside 
Tumbled  it ;  oililv  bubbled  up  the  mere. 
Last,  Gareth  loo'"^d  his  bonds  and  on  free 

feet 
Set  him,  a  stalwart  Baron,  Arthur's  friend. 

"  Well  that  ye  came,  or  else  these,  caitiff 

rogues 
Had  vreak'd  themselves  on  me ;  good  cause 

is  theirs 
To  hate  me,  for  my  wont  hath  ever  been 
To  catch  my  thief,  and  then  like  vermin  here 
Drown  him,  and  with  a  stone  about  his  neck ; 
And  under  this  wan  water  m.^ny  of  them 
Lie  rotting,  but  at  ni^ht  let  go  the  stone. 
And  rise,  and  flickenng  in  a  grimly  light 
Dance  on  the  mere.    Good  now,  ye  have 

•saved  a  life 
Worth    somewhat  as  the  cleanser  of  this 

wood. 
And  fain  would  I  reward  thee  worshipfully. 
What  guerdon  will  ye  ?"  , 

Gareth  sharply  spake, 
"  None  !  for  the  deed's  sake  have  1  done  the 

deed. 
In  uttermost  obedience  to  the  King. 
But  will  ye  yield  this  damsel  harborage  ?" 

Whereat  the  Baron  saying,  "  I  well  be- 
lieve 
Ye  be  of  Arthur'i  Table,"  a  light  laugh 
Brokefrom  Lj-nette,  "Ay,  truly  of  a  truth. 
And   in    a   sort,    being   Arthur's   kitchen- 
knave  I  — 
But  deem  not  I  accept  thee  au^ht  the  more, 
Scullion,  for  running  sharply  with  thy  spit 
Down  on  a  rout  of  craven  ioresters. 
A  thresher  with  his  flail  had  scatter'd  them. 
Nay  —  for  thou  smellest  of  the  kitchen  still. 
But  an  this  lord  will  yield  us  harborage. 
Well." 

So  she  spake.    A  league  beyond  the  wood. 
All  in  a  full-fair  manor  and  a  rich. 
His  towers  where  that  day  a  feast  had  been 
Held  in  high  hall,  and  many  a  viand  left. 
And  many  a  costly  cate,  received  the  three. 
And  there  they  placed  a  peacock  in  his  pride 
Before  the  damsel,  and  tne  Barnn  set 
Gareth  beside  her,  but  at  once  she  rose. 

"  Meseems,  that  here  is  much  discourtesy. 
Setting  this  knave,  Lord  Baron,  at  my  side. 
Hear  me  — this  morn  I  stood  in  Arthur's 

hall. 
And  pray'd  the  King  would  grant  me  Lance- 
lot 
To  fieht  the  brotherhood  of  Day  and  Night  — 
The  last  a  monster  unsubduable 
Of  any  save  of  him  for  whom  I  call'd  — 
Suddenly  bawls  this  frontless  kitchen-knave, 
'  The  quest  is  mine  ;  thy  kitchen-knave  am  I, 


And   mighty  thro'  thy  meats  and  drinks 

am  L' 
Then  Arthur  all  at  once  gone  mad  replies, 
'  Go   therefore,'  and  so  g: vts  the  quest   to 

him  — 
Him  — ^^here  —  a  villain  fitter  to  stick  swine 
Than  ride  abroad  redressing  women's  wrong, 
Or  sit  beside  a  noble  gentlewoman." 

Then  half-ashamed  and  part-;  mazed,  the 
lord 
Now  look'd  at  one  and  now  at  othjr,  left 
I'he damsel  by  the  peacock  in  his  pride, 
And,  seating  Gareth  at  another  board. 
Sat  down  beside  him,  ate  and  then  began. 

"  Friend,  whether  ye  be  kitchen-knave,  or 
not, 
Or  whether  it  be  the  maiden's  fantasy, 
And  whether  she  be  mad,  or  else  the  King, 
Or  both  or  neither,  or  thyself  be  mad, 
I  ask  not :  but  thou  strikest  a  strong  stroke. 
For  strong  thou  art  and  goodly  therewithal. 
And  saver  of  my  life  ;  and  therefore  now. 
For  here  be  mighty  men  to  joust  with,  weigh 
Whether  thou  wilt  not  with  thy  damsel  back 
To  crave  again  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  King. 
Thy  pardon  ;  I  but  speak  for  thine  avail, 
The  saver  of  my  life." 

And  G.ireth  said, 
"  Full  pardon,  but  I  follow  up  the  quest. 
Despite  of  Day  and  Night  and  Death  and 
Hell." 

So  when,  next  mom,  the  lord  whose  life  he 
saved 

Had,  some  brief  space,  convey'd  them  on 
their  way 

And  left  them  with  God-speed,  Sir  Gareth 
spake, 

"  Lead  and  I  follow."  Haughtily  she  re- 
plied, 

"  I  fly  no  more  :  I  allow  thee  for  an  hour. 
Lion  and  stoat  have  isled  together,  knave. 
In  time  _  of  flood.      Nay,  futhermore,  me- 

thinks 
Some  ruth  is  mine  for  thee.    Back  wilt  thou, 

fool? 
For  hard  by  here  is  one  will  overthrow 
And  slay  thee  :  then  will  I  to  court  again. 
And  shame  the  King  for  only  yielding  me 
My  champion  from  the  ashes  of  his  hearth." 

To  whom  Sir  Gareth  answer'd  courteously, 
"  Say  thou  thy  say,  and  I  will  do  my  deed. 
Allow  me  for  mine  hour,  and  thou  wilt  find 
My  fortunes  all  as  fair  as  hers,  who  lay 
Among  the  ashes  and  wedded  the  King's 
son." 

Then  to  the  shore  of  one  of  those  long 

loops 
Wherethro'  the  serpent  river  coil'd,  they 

came. 
Rough-thicketed  were  the  banks  and  steep ; 

the  stream 


meats  and  drinks 

3ne  mad  replies, 
•Vfcs  the   quest   to 

ter  to  stick  swine 
ig  women's  wrong, 


1  part-}.mazed,  the 

w_at  othar,  left 
t  in  Ills  pride, 
other  board, 
and  then  began. 

kitchen-knave,  or 

en's  fantasy, 
or  else  the  King, 
elf  be  mad, 
St  a  strong  stroke, 
lodly  therewithal, 
therefore  now, 
)  joust  with,  weigh 
1  thy  damsel  back 
ot  of  the  King, 
for  thine  avail, 


Lnd  Gjreth  said, 
I  up  the  quest, 
lit  and  Death  and 


!  lord  whose  life  he 
:onvey'd  them  on 
speed,  Sir  Gareth 
Haughtily  she  re- 


thee  for  an  hour, 
together,  knave, 
iuthermore,  me- 

I.    Back  wilt  thou, 

11  overthrow  _ 
to  court  again, 
nly  yielding  me 
les  of  his  hearth." 

wer'd  courteously, 
will  do  my  deed, 
id  thou  wilt  find 
ers,  who  lay 
edded  the  King's 


>ne  of  those  long 
river  coil'd,  they 
banks  and  steep ; 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


Pull,  narrow ;  this  a  bridge  of  single  arc 
look  at  a  leap;  and  on  the  further  side 
Arose  a  silk  pavilion,  gay  with  gold 
In  streaks  and  rays,  and  all  Lent-lily  in  hue, 
have  that  the  dome  was  purple,  and  above, 
Crimson,  a  slender  banneret  fluttering. 
And  therebefore' the  lawless  warrior  ijaced 
Unarm  d,  and  calling,  "  Damsel,  is  this  he, 
champion    ye    have    brought     from 
Arthur's    hall? 
For  whom  we  let  f'lee  pass."    «  Nay.  nay," 

she  said,  ' 

"Sir    Morning-Star.    The    King   in    utter 

scorn 
Of  thee  and  thy  much  folly  hath  sent  thee 

here 
His  kitchen-knave  :  and  look  thou  to  thyself: 
hee  that  he  fall  not  on  thee  suddenly. 
And  slay  thee  unarm'd :  he  is  not  knight  but 

KnAVC* 

Then    at  his  call,  "O  daughters   of  the 
Dawn, 
And  servants  of  the  Morning-Star,  ar  proach. 
Arm  me, "^ from  out  the  silken  (  urtain-folds 
barefooted  and  bareheaded  three  fair  girls 
In  gilt  and  rosy  raiment  came  :  their  feet 
In  dewy  grasses  glisten'd;  and  the  hair 
All  over  glanced  with  dewdrop  or  with  gem 
Like  sparkles  in  the  stone  Avanturine- 
Ihese  arm  d  him  in  blue  arms,  and  eave  a 

shield  * 

Blue  also,  and  thereon  the  morning  star. 
And  Gareth  silent  gazed  upon  the  knight. 
Who  stood  a  moment,  ete  his   hoise  was 

.brought. 
Glorying ;  and  in  the  stream  beneath  him 
shone,  ' 

Immingled  with  Heaven's  azure  waveringly, 
Ihe  gay  pavilion  and  the  naked  feet. 
His  arms,  the  rosy  raiment,  and  the  star 


leave    thy   lady  lightly. 


Come,  therefore, 

knave. 

Avoid  :  for  it  beseemeth  not  a  knave 
lo  ride  with  such  a  ladv." 


r  .«,:„-  t  ,  ft.  ..  "  J3°Ki  thou  liest. 
I  spring  from  loftier  hneage  than  thine 
own." 


He  spake  ;  and  all  at  fiery  speed  the  two 
Shock  d  on   the  central  bridge,  and  eit 


spear 


either 


Ben  but  not  brake,  and  either  knight  at  once, 
rturl  d  as  a  stone  from  oirt  of  a  catapult 
Keyond  his  horse's  crupper  and  the  bridge* 
tell,  ""fdead;  but  quickly  rose  and  drew, 
Ar  ireth  lash'd  so  fiercely  with  his  brand 
rt  jraye  his  enemy  backward  down  the 
bridge, 

The  damsel  crying,  "Well-stricken,  kitchen- 
nave  !  ' 
Till  o.ireth's  shield  was  cloven;   but  one 
stroke 

^*"^  *'i-o     d''  ''°**'  ''  groveUing  on  the 
^'"'l  Tifd  •''"'  ^^"'"'  "^^'"'  "°'  '"y  '■'*'  ' 


Then  she  thai  watch'd  him,  "Wherefore 

stare  ye  so  ? 

Thou  shakest  in  thy  fear :  there  yet  is  time  : 

Flee  down  the  valley  before  he  get  to  horse. 

Who  will  cry  shame?    Thou  art  not  knight 

but  knave." 

Said  Gareth,  "Damsel,  whether  knave  or 

knight, 
*,»■■  ''ever  had  I  fight  a  score  of  times 
inan  hear  thee  so  missay  me  and  revile 
l-air  words  were  best  for  him  who  fights  for 

thee  ; 
But  truly  foul  are  better,  for  they  send 
Ihat  strength  of  anger  thro' mine  arras.  I 

know 
That  I  shall  overthrow  him." 

Ti,<..t,.  u  •  .     And  he  that  bore 

Ihe  star,  being  mounted,  cried  from  o'er  the 

the  bridge, 
"  A  kitchen -knave,  and  sent  in  scorn  of  me  I 
|uch  fight  not  r,  but  answer  scorn  with  scorn 
*or  this  were  shame  to  do  him  further  wrong 
Ihan  set  him  on  his  feet,  and  take  his  horse 
And  arms,  and  so  return  him  to  the  K^ig. 


And  Gareth,  "  So  this  damsel  ask  it  of  me 

Uood—  I  accord  it  easily  as  a  grace." 

She   reddening,    "Insolent  scullion:    I  of 

tnee .' 
I  bound  to  thee  for  any  favor  ask'd  I  " 
Then  shall  he  die."    And  Gareth  the   • 

unlaced 
His  helmet  as  to  slay  him,  but  she  shriek'd, 

Be  not  so  hardy,  scullion,  as  to  slay 
One  nobler  than  thyself."     "Damsel,   thv 

charge  ' 

Is  an  abounding  pleasure  to  me.     Knight. 
I  hy  life  IS  thine  at  her  command.    Arise 
And  quickly  pass  to  Arthur's  hall,  and  say      - 
His    kitchen-knave    hath    sent    thee      See 

thou  crave 
His  pardon  for  thy  breaking  of  his  laws. 
Myself,  when  I  return,  will  plead  for  thee. 
1  hy  shield  IS  mine  -  farewell ;  and,  damsel, 

thou 
Lead,  and  I  follow." 


-,.  ,         .  And  fast  away  she  fled. 

men    when    he    came    upon    her,    spake, 

Methought, 
Knave  when  I  watch'd  thee  striking  on  the 

bridge 
The  savor  of  thy  kitchen  came  upon  me 
A  little  fainther :  but  th-  wind  hath  changed  : 
I  scent  It  twentyfold."    And  then  she  wng, 
O  morning  star '  (not  that  tall  felon  there 
Whom  thou  by  stjrcery  or  unhappiness 
Cr  s.-,mc  ^.evicc,  hast  fciiiiy  overthrown), 
O  morning  star  that  smilest  in  the  blue, 
W  star,  my  morning  dream  hath  proven  true, 
tsmile  sweetly,  thou  1  my  love  hath  smiled  on 
me. 

"But   thou   begone,   take   counsel,  and 
away, 
For  hard  by  here  is  one  that  guards  afoid  — 


\\ 


iiMMiMWii 


3I« 


GARETff  AND  LVNETTM. 


The  second  brother  in  their  fool's  parable  — 
Will  pay  thee  all  thy  wages,  and  to  boot. 
Care  not  for  shame  :  thou  art  not  knight  but 
knave." 

To  whom  Sir  Gareth  answer'd,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"  Parables?    Hear  a  parable  of  the  knave. 

When  I  was  kitchen-knave  among  the  rest 

Fierce  was  the  hearth,  and  ont  of  my  co- 
mates 

Own'd  a  rough  dog,  to  whom  he  ca.st  his 
coat, 

'Guard  it,' and  there  was  none  to  meddle 
with  it. 

And  such  a  coat  art  thou,  and  thee  the 
King 

Gave  me  to  guard,  and  such  a  dog  am  I, 

To  worry,  and  not  to  flee  —  and  —  knight  or 
knave  — 

The  knave  that  doth  thee  service  as  full 
knight 

Is  all  as  good,  meseems,  as  any  knight 

Toward  thy  sister's  freemg," 

"  Ay,  Sir  Knave  I 
Ay,  knave,  because  thou  strikest  as  a  knight, 
Being  but  knave,  I  hate  thee  all  the  more." 

"  Fair  damsel,  ye  should  worship  me  the 
more. 
That,  being  but  knave,  I  throw  thine  ene- 
mies." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  she  said,  "  but  thou  shalt  meet 
thy  match." 

So  when  they  touch'd  the  second  river- 

loop, 
Huge  on  a  huge  red  horse,  and  all  in  mail 
Bumish'd  to  blinding,  shone  the  Noonday 

Sun 
Beyond  a  raging  shallow.    As  if  the  flower. 
That  blows  a  globe  of  after  arrowlets, 
Ten  thousand-fold  had  grown,  flash'd  the 

fierce  shield, 
All  sun  ;  and  Gareth's  eyes  had  flying  blots 
Before  them  when  he  tum'd  from  watching 

him. 
He  from  beyond  the  roaring  shallow  roar'd, 
"  What  doest  thou,  brother,  in  my  marches 

here  ?  " 
And  she  athwart  the  shallow  shrill'd  again, 
"  Here  is  a  kitchen-knave  from  Arthur's  hall 
Hath  overthrown  thy  brother,  and  hath  his 

arms." 
"  Ugh  I "  cried  the  Sun,  and  vizoring  up  a 

red 
And  cipher  face  of  rounded  foolishness, 
Push'd  horse  across  the  foamings  of  the  ford. 
Whom  Gareth  met  midstream :  no  room  was 

there 
For  lance  or  toumey-skill :  four  strokes  they 

struck 
With  sword,  and  these  were  mighty;  the 

new  knight 
Had  fear  he  might  be  shamed ;  but  as  the 

Sub 


Heaved  up  a  ponderous  arm  to  strike  the 

fifth. 
The  hoof  of  his  horse  slipt  in  the  stream,  the 

stream 
Descended,  and  the  Sun  was  wash'd  away. 

Then  Gareth  laid  his  lance  athwart  the 

ford; 
So  drew  him  home  ;  but  he  that  would  not 

fight, 
As  bemg  all  bone-battered  on  the  rock. 
Yielded  ;  and  Gareth  sent  him  to  the  King. 
"  Mvself  when  I  return  will  plead  for  thee. 
Lead,  and  I  follow."     Quietly  she  led. 
"  Hath  not  the  good  wind,  damsel,  changed 

again?" 
"  Nay,  not  a  point :  nor  art  thou  victor  here. 
There  lies  a  ridge  of  slate  across  the  ford ; 
His  horse  thereon  stumbled  —  ay,  for  I  saw 

it. 


"'O   Sun*    (not  this 
thou.  Sir  Knave, 


strong  fool  whnni 

Hast  overthrown  thro'  mere  unhappiness), 
'O  Sun,  that  wakenest  all  to  bliss  or  pain, 
O  moon,  that  layest  all  to  sleep  again. 
Shine  sweetly  ;  twice  my  love  nath  smiled  on 
lue.' 

"  What  knowest  thou  of  lovesong  or  of 
love? 
Nay,  nay,  God  wot,  so  thou  wert  nobly  born. 
Thou  hast  a  pleasant  presence.    Yea,  per- 
chance, — — 

"  '  O  dewy  flowers  that  open  to  the  sun, 
O  dewy  flowers  that  close  when  day  is  done. 
Blow  sw  eetly ;  twice  my  love  hath  smiled  on 
me.' 

"  What  knowest  thou  of  flowers,  except, 

belike. 
To  garnish  meats  with?  hath  not  our  good 

King 
Who  lent  me  thee,  the  flower  of  kitchendom, 
A  foolish    love  for  flowers  ?  what  stick  ye 

round 
The  pasty?  wherewithal  deck   the  boar's 

head? 
Flowers  ?  nay,  the  boar  hath  rosemaries  and 

bay. 

"'O  birds,  that  warble  to  the  morning 

O  birds  that  warble  as  the  day  goes  by. 
Sing  sweetly :  twice  my  love  hath  smiled  on 
me.' 

"  What  knowest  thou  ofbirds,  lark,  mavis, 
merle, 

Linnet?    what  drpam    «•   twl^.w     tt^^y  nff^^ 

forth  "       '~ 

May-music  growing  with  the  growing  light, 
Their  sweet  sun-worship  ?  these  be  for  the 

snare 
(So  runs  thy  fancy)  these  be  for  the  spit, 
Larding  and   basting.    See  thou  have  not 

BOW 


I  arm  to  strike  the 
]t  in  the  stream,  the 

was  wash'd  away. 

lance  athwart  the 

he  that  would  not 

d  on  the  rock, 
t  him  to  the  King, 
nil  plead  for  thee, 
uietly  she  led. 
d,  damsel,  changed 

irt  thou  victor  here. 
:  across  the  ford ; 
>led  —  ay,  for  I  saw 

strong  fool  whom 

sre  unhappiness), 
1  to  bliss  or  pain, 
I  sleep  again, 
love  natn  smiled  on 

of  lovesong  or  of 

juwert  nobly  born, 
esence.    Yea,  per- 


open  to  the  sun, 
:  when  day  is  done, 
love  hath  smiled  on 


of  flowers,  except, 

hath  not  our  good 

werof  kitchendom, 
!rs?  what  stick  ye 

deck   the   boar's 

ith  rosemaries  and 

B  to  the  morning 

:  day  goes  by, 

ive  hath  smiled  on 

binds,  lark,  mavis, 

tvhsn    the*'  utter 

the  growing  light, 
?  these  be  for  the 

>e  for  the  spit, 
ee  thou  have  uot 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


Larded  thy  List,  except  thou  turn  and  fly. 
There  stands  the  third  fool  of  their  allegory." 

For  there  beyond  a  bridge  of  treble  bow, 
Allm  a  rose-red  from  the  west,  and  all 
Naked  It  seem'd,  and  glowing  in  the  broad 
Deep-dimpled     current     underneath,     the 

knight, 
That  named  himself  the  Star  of  Evenine 
stood.  "' 

And  Gareth,  "  Wherefore  waits  the  mad- 
man there 
Naked   in  open  dayshine?"    "Nay,"  she 

cried, 
"Not  naked,  only  wrapt  in  harden'd  skins 
1  hat  fit  him  like  his  own  ;  and  so  ye  cleave 
His   armor   off  him,    these    will  turn  thf 
blade." 

Then  the  third  brother  shouted  o'er  the 

bridge, 
"p  brother-star,  why  shine  ye  here  so  low? 
Thy  ward  is  higher  up :  but  have  ye  slain 
The  damsel's  champion?"  and  the  damsel 

cried, 

"  No  star  of  thine,  but  shot  from  Arthur's 

heaven 
With  all  disaster  unto  thine  and  thee  I 
For  both  thy  younger  brethren  have  gone 

down 
Before  this  youth :  and  so  wilt  thou.  Sir 

Star ; 
Art  thou  not  old  ? " 


3«y 


I  Ilf*"*'  ,1  *'".'»"  him,  for  be  seem'd  as  one 
X  hat  all  in  later,  sadder  age  begins 
lo  war  against  ill  uses  of  a  life, 

•Tru      I*  '^^°'"  ""  ^'*  •''^^  *"»«•  and  cry, 
Ihou  hast  made  us  lords,  and  canst  not  put 
us  down  I  " 
He  half  despairs ;  so  Gareth  seem'd  to  strike 
Vanily,  the  damsel  clamoring  all  the  while, 
Well  done,  knave-knight,  well-stricken,  O 
good  knightknave  — 
P  knave,  as  noble  as  any  of  all  the  knights  — 
.Shame   me  not,   shame  me    not.      I   have 

prophesied  — 
Strike,  thou  art  worthy  of  the  Table  Round  — 
Hi#   arms  are  old,  he   trusts  the  harden'd 

l.trike  -  •.  Tike  —  the  wind  will  never  change 

{""!  P*''^',    '''*»"''.8  ever  stronglier  smote, 
A    1  hevv  U  .  eat  pieces  of  his  armor  oft  him, 
H  .  l.»sii  d  ,.,  vain  against  the  harden'd  skin, 
/.'■'  <  oi'lH  .ot  wholFy  bring  him  under,  more 
i       .   kdd  Southwesterns,  rolling  ridge  on 

ridge. 
The  buoy  that  rides  at  tea,  and  dip*  and 

springs 

^PT.7^''"  a',  l«"Kth  Sir  Gareth's  brand 
Clash  d  his,  and  brake  it  utterly  to  the  hilt. 
I  have  thee  now  " ;  but  forth  that  other 


nu       -.1.  .u     "Pi^'  d»°'?e'.  oW  and  hard. 
Old,  with  the  might  and  breath  of  twenty 

boys."  ' 

Said  Gareth,  "Old,  and  over-bold  in  brag  I 
But  that  same  strength  which   threw  the 

Moming-Star 
Can  throw  the  Evening." 

A  I,    J      J  J    J,  '^'''"  ">**  o***"  blew 

A  hard  and  deadly  note  upon  the  horn 
Approach  and  arm  me  !  ^'   With  slow  steps 

from  out  '^ 

An  old  storm-beaten,  russet,  many-stain'd 
Pavilion,  forth  a  grizzled  damsel  came, 
And  arm'd  him  in  old  arms,  and  brought  a 

helm 
With  but  a  drying;  evergreeu  for  crest. 
And    Mve   a   shield  whereon  the   Star  of 

tven 

"*"""*sirone'^  and  half-bright,  his  emblem. 
But  when  it  glitter'd  o'er  the  saddle-bow, 

X^^C^^^L  "^"''1  '°S««»'"  °n  the  bridge. 
And  Gareth  overthrew  him.  lighted,  driw. 
-Rvre  met  mm  arawn,  and  overthrew  him 

again. 
But  up  fike  fire  he  started  :  and  as  oft 
AS  Oareth  brought  him  grovelling  on  his 

1,9  "jany  a  time  he  vaulted  up  again  ; 

wILj        •  P*",*.*^.  ''*''^'  *°d  his  great  heart, 
roredooming  all  bis  trouble  was  in  vain, 


sprang. 
And,  all  unknightlike,  writhed  his  wiry  arms 
Around  hini,  till  he  felt,  despite  his  mail, 
Strangled,  but  straining  ev'n  his  uttermost 
'  b"r^d*°  ''""  ''"diong  o'er  the 

^^VTA°  **!?  Trir'  '■'?.''  ""^  »*'•»'  and  cried. 
Lead,  and  I  follow. " 


„  T  i„j       ,  . .  But  the  damsel  said, 

I  lead  no  longer ;  nde  thou  at  my  side  ; 
Thou  art  the  kmgliest  of  all  kitchen-knaves. 

"  'O  trefoil,  sparkling  on  the  rainy  plain. 
O  rainbow  with  three  colors  after  rain. 
Shine  sweetly :  thrice  my  love  hath  smiled 
on  me. 

"  ^''■'  "V-^^i  K°°d  faith,  I  feln  had  added 
—  Knight, 
Butt!  at  I  heard  thee  call  thyself  a  knave,  — 
bhanied  am  I  that  I  so  rebuked,  reviled. 
Missaid  thee;  noble  I  am  ;  and  thought  the 
King 

Scorn 'd  me  and  mine  ;  and  now  thy  pardon, 
friend,  .-  •-  i 

For  thou  hast  ever  answer'd  courteously. 
And  wholly  bold  thou  art,  and  meek  withal 
As  any  of  Arthur's  best,  but,  being  knave. 
Hast  mazed  my  wit :  I  marvel  what  thnii  art." 


'ye  be  not  all  to 


"Damsel,"  he  said, 
blame, 

^vine  that  ye  mistrusted  our  good  King 
Would  handle  scorn,  oryield  thee,  asking,  one 
Wot  fit  to  cope  thy  quest.    Ye  said  your  say : 
Mine  answer  was  my  deed.   Good  sooth  I    I 
oola 


3i« 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


He  scarce  is  knight,  yea  but  half-man,  nor 

meet 
To  fight  for  gentle  damsel,  he,  who  lets 
His  heart  be  stirr'd  with  any  foolish  heat 
At  any  gentle  damsel's  waywardness. 
Shamed  ?  care  not  I  thy  foul  sayings  fought 

for  me : 
And  seeing  now  thy  words  are  fair,  methinks, 
There  rides  no  knight,    not  Lancelot,    his 

great  self, 
I  fui 


Hath  force  to  quell  me." 

,„.        ,     ,        .  Nigh  upon  that  hour 

When  the  lone  hern  forgets  his  melanclioly. 
Lets  down  his  other  leg,  and  stretchmg 

dreams 
Of  goodly  supper  in  the  distant  pool. 
Then  turn'd  the  noble  damsel  smiling  at  him. 
And  told  him  of  a  cavern  hard  at  hand, 
Where  bread  and  baken  meats  and  good  red 

wine 
Of  Southland,  which  the  Lady  Lyonors 
Had  sent  her  coming  champion,  waited  him. 

Anon  they  past  a  narrow  comb  wherein 
Were  slabs  of  rock  with  figures,  knights  on 

horse 
Sculptured,  and  deckt  in  slowly  waning  hues. 
"  Sir  Knave,  my  knight,  a  hermit  cnce  was 

here. 
Whose  holy  hand  hath  fashion'd  on  the  rock 
The  war  of  Time  against  the  soul  of  man. 
And  yon  four  fools  have  suck'd  their  allegory 
From  these  damp  walls,  and  taken  but  the 

form. 
Know  ye  not  these?"  and  Gareth  lookt  and 

read  — 
In  letters  like  to  those  the  vexillary 
Hath  left  crag-carven  o'er  the  streaming 

Gelt  — 
"  Phosphorus,"     then    "  Mhridies  "  ■  - 

"Hesperus"  — 
"  Nox  "  —  "  Mors,"  beneath  five  figures, 

armed  men. 
Slab  after  slab,  their  faces  forward  all. 
And  running  down  the  Soul,  a  Shape  that  fled 
With  broken  wings,  torn  raiment  and  loose 

hair, 
For  help  and  shelter  to  the  hermit's  cave. 
"  Follow  the  faces,  and  we  find  it.     Look, 
Who  comes  behind  ? " 

_,     ,,  For  one  — delay 'd  at -i^t 

Thro*  helpmg  back  the  dislocated  Kay 
To  Camelot,  then  by  what  thereafter  chanced. 
The  damsel's  headlong  error  thro'  tht  ■  /ood — 
Sir  Lancelot,  having  swum  the  river-loops  — 
His  blue  shield-lions  cover'd  —  softly  drew 
Behind  the  twain,  and  when  he  saw  the  star 
Gleam,  on  Sir  Gareth's  turning  to  him,  cried, 
"  Stay,  felon  knight,   I  avenge  me  for  my 

friend." 
And  Gareth  crying  prick'd  against  the  cry ; 
But  when  they  closed  —  in  a  moment  — at 

one  touch 
Of  that  skill'd  rjear,  the  wonder  of  the 

world  — 
Went  sliding;  down  so  easily,  and  fell, 


That  when  he  found  the  grass  within  his 

hands 
He  laugh'd ;  the  laughter  jarr'd  upon  Ly- 

nette:  ^ 

Harshly  she  ask'd  him,  "  Shamed  and  over-. 

thrown. 
And  tumbled  back  into  the  kitchen-knave. 
Why  laugh  ye  ?  that  ye  blew  your  boast  in 

vain  ? " 
"  Nay,  noble  damsel,  but  that  I,  the  son 
Of  old  King  Lot  and  good  Queen  Bellicent, 
And  victor  of  the  bridges  and  the  ford. 
And  knight  of  Arthur,  here  lie  thrown  by 

whom 
I  know  not,  all  thro'  mere  unhappiness  — 
Device  and  sorcery  and  unhappmess  — 
Out,  sword  ;  we  are  thrown  1 "  and  Lancelot 

answered,  "  Prince, 
O  Gareth  —  thro'  the  mere  unhappiness 
Of  one  who  came  to  help  thee  not  to  harm, 
Lancelot,  and  all  as  glad  to  find  thee  whole, 
As  on  the  day  when  Arthur  knighted  him." 

Then  Gareth,  "  Thou  —  Lancelot  I— thine 

the  hand 
That  threw  me  ?    An  some  chance  to  mar 

the  boast 
Thy  brethren  of  thee  make  — which  could 

not  chance  — 
Had  sent  thee  down  before  a  lesser  spear 
Shamed  had  I  been  and  sad  —  O  Lancelot — 

thou  I " 

„  Whereat  the  maiden,  petulant,  "  Lancelot, 
Why  came  ye  not,  when  call'd  ?  and  where- 
fore now 
Come  ye,  not  call'd  ?  I  gloried  in  my  knave. 
Who  bemg  still  rebuked,  would  answer  still 
Courteous  as  any  knight— but  now,  if  knight. 
The  marvel  dies,  and  leaves  me  fool'd  and 

trick'd, 
And  only  wondering  wherefore  play'd  upon  : 
And  doubtful  whether  I  and  mine  be  scorn'd. 
Where  should  be  truth  if  not  in  Arthur's  hall. 
In  Arthur's  presence?  Knight,  knave,  prince 

and  fool, 
I  hate  thee  and  forever." 

„  _,        ,  .      .  And  Lancelot  said, 

Blessed  be  thou,  Sir  Gareth  I  knight  art 

thou 
To  the  King's  Ijest  wish.    O  damsel,  be  ye 

wise 
To  call  him  shamed,  who  is  but  overthrown? 
Thrown  have  I  been,  nor  once,  but  many  a 

time. 
Victor  from  vanquish'd  issues  at  the  last. 
And  overthrower  from  being  overthrown. 
With  sword  we  have  not  striven ;  and  thy 

good  horse 
And  thou  art  weary  ;  yet  not  less  I  feit 
Thy  manhood  thro'  that  wearied  lance  of 

thine. 
Well  hast  thou  done  :  for  all  the  stream  is 

freed. 
And  thou  hast  wreak'd  his  justice  on  his  foes. 
And  wh?n  reviled,  haJst  answer'd  graciously, 


the  grass  within  his 

liter  jarr'd  upon  Ly- 

,  "  Shamed  and  over- 

the  kitchen-knave, 
1  blew  your  boast  in 

ut  that  I,  the  son 
)od  Queen  Bellicent, 
as  and  the  ford, 
here  lie  thrown  by 

;re  unhappiness  — 
unhappmess  — 
own  1 ''  and  Lancelot 

CO, 

lere  unhappiness 
!p  thee  not  to  harm, 
i  to  find  thee  whole, 
thur  knighted  him." 

—  Lancelot  I— thine 

ome  chance  to  mar 

nake  —  which  could 

ore  a  lesser  spear 
sad  — O  Lancelot— 


petulant,  "  Lancelot, 
1  call'd  ?  and  where- 
gloried  in  my  knave, 
,  would  answer  still 
—  but  now,  if  knight, 
aves  me  fool'd  and 

irefore  play'd  upon : 
ind  mine  be  scorn'd. 
not  in  Arthur's  hall, 
night,  knave,  prince 


And  Lancelot  said, 
Gareth  1  knight  art 

1.    O  damsel,  be  ye 

( is  but  overthrown? 
ir  once,  but  many  a 

isues  at  the  last, 
iing  overthrown. 
t  striven ;  and  thy 

not  less  I  felt 
t  wearied  lance  of 

or  all  the  stream  is 

5  justice  on  his  foes, 
nswer'd  graciously. 


^"'''^KnfghT"'^'  "'"'noverthrown.  Prince, 
"'"'  Rih}"'^  ^""'*'  ^''^  of  our  Table 

Thi"»li"'*?/5J'''*V"""""?  to  Lynette  he  told 
The  tale  of  Gareth,  petufantly  she  said 
Ay  wdl-ay  well-for  wo'rse  th^'being 

Of  others,  is  to  fool  one's  self.    A  cave 

Sir  Lancelot,  is  hard  by.  with  melfs  and 

'""'I'iKnt"    ^'•-"-tf.y  sought 

PasHn^n^,^""''  ^'"^u^»«'  ■"«*  all  his  life 

"  Son^H    c  "P  '■  u°"  T'^0'"  *'"'  'naiden  gazed 

Wake  lusty  !    Seem  I  not  as  tender  to  him 

Asal^nn^'^l  ^y'  but  such  a  one         " 
As  all  day  long  hath  rated  at  her  child 
^"^/f  h'lday,  but  blesses  himl^eep- 
iSckle    "^  ^'^'^y  "^^^  the  honey. 

Of  ti«*er  n«!?  "'^"iS  *'  '^  "'«  ''o^d  ^ere  one 
ut  utter  peace,  and  love,  and  gentleness  I 

.        Tands  -  ""'°* "  -and^he  clapl  her 
"  Full  merry  am  I  to  find  my  goodly  knave 
J?,^"'eh'  and  nob  e.    See  nowfswora  hati  I 
Ik  ^°"  'I'ack  felon  had  not  let  me  pass      ' 
To  bring  thee  back  to  do  the  batt^  wSm 
Thus  an  thou  goest,  he  will  fight  thee  firs^^ 
Who  cioubts  thee  victor?  so  lill  my  knight- 
Miss  the  full  flower  of  this  accomplishment." 
^^'''naml°"'°*'    "^"^'^^«"t"«    he.   ye 
^"y  wUlT  '""*  ^^'''^^-    ^'  ^^'«"''  an  he 
^''•^"^fre^'sh,  ^°'  "'""'  ''"*'  "^^  ""y  *=*'arger, 

K^'^/tiPrv'  '°.Y^".f  ,">«  ''attle  as  well 
sa?d  Lancelot-like,"  she 

"Courteous  in  this,  Lord  Lancelot,  as  in 

"^""^th?  shSd  .''^''*"'"K.  fiercely  clutch'd 

"^^"ill^piara""'''''"*''""*^  "°°^' ""  ^''o" 
Are  rotten  sticks !  ye  setm  agape  to  roar  I 
Carert^t"^„rH''''"^'"«^^youHord  - 
you  ^^^^  ^  **"  '  'a^e  for 

O  noble  Lancelot,  from  my  hold  on  these 
Streams  virtiiP_fir»  — thm'  ^,     .1  •      •« 
not  shame  °''''  '^^'  ^'^^ 

H^nce : leSg:."'  "^'""'"^  """^^  ^'"«'''- 


GARETH  AND  LYNBTTE. 


They  traversed, 
mer-wan, 


Silent  the  silent  field 
Arthur's  harp  tho'  sum- 


319 
In  counter  motion  to  the  clouds,  allured 
A  su^r  s"ho't°^?T"'ii'  dreaming  on  hTliege. 
falls  l"     ^°'     ^'^  ^*'"'''  "«l>e  foe 

^"^  "let  rP*=  """"^  '^^  ^'^'or  pealing 
Suddenly  she  that  rode  upon  his  left    ' 
Clung^totl^e  shield  that  Lncefot  lent  him. 
"YieH^yield  him  this  again:  'tis  he  must 

^°'' W'donr  ^""^  '^'''^    --"^^^  ye 
Miracles  ye  cannot :  here  is  glory  enow 
Mande^P-S""^  '^^  "I'"  ■■  ^  «ee  tlee  mlim'd, 
^fourth  ''•"'"'■  "'°"  "^"^'  "»'  fl'°S  the 

"^ifno'S""'^'''''  ''^'"''''  **"  ™«  a"  ye 
Su'S'^ffi^K"  '•  """l  "-""gh  fi«<=e.  or  voice. 
Appalttfromte  ^lie'st '?""^  ''^^^^^^ 

"God  wot,  I  neventeiTo^n^'t^etcr''' 
Seeing  he  never  rides  abroad  by  day  • 
Ch  uTnT'lhl''''?  ^^^  ^  ^^^'^  a  ^lant'^m  pass 
voici       ^^''-  ■""■  '"»^"  ^  heard  the 
Always  he  i^iade  his  mouthpiece  of  a  pace 
Who  came  and  went,  and  still  reported  ffm 

And  wh»^  V  •"'"'^'^  'he  strengtHof  ten. 
And  when  his  anger  tare  him,  massacrine 
Man,  woma_n,  lad  and  girl-yea,''thrsoft 

Some  Md  that  he  hath  swallow'd  infant 

Monster !  6  prince,  I  went  for  Lancelot  first 

"shield."     "'"''"^  «'"^  "''"^  hack  the 

^*'''th?sr"'  '""Shing,  "An  he  fight  for 

Ih.'.o*  ^^  '1;'°^  ''  ?*  the  better  man : 
Thus — and  not  else  ? " 

All  .1.    J     ■  .       ^ut  Lancelot  on  him  urceA 
All  the  devismgs  of  their  chivalry  ^ 

^here^one  might  meet  a  mightier  than  him- 

""*  ''shidd  "'"^^*  horse,  lance,  sword  and 

Wii^^vi'l  "Pi'^l  ^*P  ^here  force  might  fail 
With  skill  and  fineness.    Instant  wire  his 
words. 

Then  Gareth,  "Here  be  rules.    I  know 
Ct  I  one  — ■ 

Yet1f/v/P''"f' u7i"?  *"«'"y  and  to  win. 
Anrt«r  f,  "'atch'd  thee  victor  in  the  joust. 


GARETH  AND  LYNETTE. 


I 


320 

To  thunder-gloom  palling   all   stare,  they 

rode 
In  converse  till  she  made  her  palfrey  halt, 
Lifted     an     arm,    and    ^ftly    whisper'd, 

"There."  .    ^.^ 

And  all  the  three  were  silent  seeing,  pitch  d 
Beside  the  Castle  Perilous  on  flat  field, 
A  huge  pavilion  like  a  mountain  peak 
Sunder  the  glooming  crimson  on  the  marge. 
Black,  with  black  banner,  and  a  long  black 

horn  ■• 

Beside  it  hanging :  which  Sir  Gareth  graspt. 
And  so,  before  the  two  could  hinder  him, 
Sent  all  his  heart  and  breath  thro'  all  the 

horn.  .  , ,    . 

Echo'd  the  walls :  a  light  twinkled ;  anon 
Came  lights  and  lights,  and  once  again  he 

blew;  ,.  , 

Whereon  were  hollow  tramplings  up  and 

down  ,   .    , 

And  muffled  voices  heard,  and  shadows  past ; 
Till  high  above  him,  circled  with  her  maids, 
The  Lady  Lyonors  at  a  window  stood. 
Beautiful  among  lights,  and  waving  to  hini 
White  hands,  and  courtesy ;  b';t  when  the 

Prince 
Three  times  had  blown— after  long  hush— 

at  last  — 
The  huge  pavilion  slowly  yielded  up. 
Thro'  those  black  foldings,  that  which  housed 

therein.  .  ,  , ,    , 

High  on  a  nightblack  horse,  in  nightblack 

arms. 
With  white  breast-bone,  and  barren  nbs  of 

Death, 
And  crown'd  with  fleshless  laughter— some 

ten  steps — 
In  the  half  light  —  through  the  dim  dawn  — 

advanced 
The  monster,  and  then  paused,  and  spake 

no  word. 

But  Gareth  spake  and  all  indignantly, 
"  Fool,  for  thou  hast,  men  say,  the  strength 

of  ten. 
Canst  thou  not  trust  the  limbs  thy  God  hath 

given. 
But  must,  to  make  the  terror  of  thee  more, 
Trick  thyself  out  in  ghastly  imageries 
Of  that  which  Life  hath  done  with,  and  the 

clod. 
Less  dull  than  thou,  will  hide  with  mantling 

flowers 
As  if  for  pity  ?  "    Bui    o  spake  no  word  ; 
Which  set  the  horror  higher:   a  maiden 

swoon'd ; 
The  Lady  Lyonors  wrung  her  hands  and 

wept, 


As  doom'd  to  be  the  bride  of  Night  and 
Death :  ^,.  .    , 

SirGareth's  head  prickled  beneath  his  helm ; 

And  ev'n  Sir  Lancelot  thro'  his  warm  blood 
felt  ...... 

Ice  strike,  and  all  that  mark'd  him  were 
aghast. 

At  once   Sir  Lancelot's  charger  fiercely 

ueigh'd  — 
At  once  the  black  horse  bounded  forward 

with  him. 
Then  those  that  did  not  blink  the  terror. 

That  Death  was  cast  to  ground,  and  slowly 

rose.  ,•      ,. 

But  with  one  stroke  Sir  Gareth  split  the 

skuU. 
Half  fell  to  right  and  half  to  left  and  lay. 
Then  with  a  stronger  buffet  he  clove,  the 

helm 
As  throughly  as  the  skull ;  and  out  from 

this  .      ^ 

Issued  the  bright  face  of  a  blooming  boy 
Fresh  as  a  flower  new-born,  and  crying, 

"Knight,  .      ,       ^  J         , 

Slay  me  not :  my  three  brethren  bad  me  oo 

it,  ,     , 

To  make  a  horror  all  about  the  house, 
And  stay  the  worid  from  Lady  Lyonors. 
They  never  dream'd  the  passes  would  be 

past."  .      , 

Answer'd  Sir  Gareth  graciously  to  one        . 
Not  many  a  moon  his  younger.     My  fair 

child,  .  ,    „  . 

What  madness  made   thee   challenge  the 

chief  knight 
Of  Arthur's  hall? "    "  Fair  Sir,  they  bad  me 

do  it. 
They  hate    the  King,  and    Lancelot,  the 

King's  firiend, 
They  hoped  to  slay  him  somewhere  on  the 

stream, 
They  never  dream'd  the  passes  could  be 

past." 

Then  sprang  the  happier  day  from  under- 
ground ; 
And  Lady  Lyonors  and   her  house,   with 

dance 
And  revel  and  song,  made  merry  over  Death, 
As  being  after  all  their  foolish  fears 
And  horrors  only  prov'n  a  blooming  boy. 
So  large  mirth  lived,  and  Gareth  won  the 
quest 

And  he  that  told  the  tale  in  older  times 
Says  that  Sir  Garath  wedded  Lyonors, 
But  he,  that  told  it  later,  says  Lynette. 


ride  of  Night  and 

i  beneath  his  helm : 
ro'  his  warm  blood 

mark'd  him  were 


t's  charger  fiercely 

B  bounded  forward 

)t  blink  the  terror, 

ground,  and  slowly 

ir  Gareth  split  the 

f  to  left  and  lay. 
juffet  he  clove,  the 

tull ;  and  out  from 

a  blooming  boy 
^born,  and   crying, 

brethren  bad  me  do 

3Ut  the  house. 
Lady  Lyonors. 
ke  passes  would  be 

tctously  to  one 
younger,  "  My  fair 

thee   challenge  the 

'air  Sir,  they  bad  me 

and   Lancelot,  the 

I  somewhere  on  the 

he  passes  could  be 

pier  day  from  under- 

id   her  hou  c,   with 

ie  merry  over  Death, 
roolish  fears 
1  a  blooming  boy. 
md  Gareth  won  the 


tale  in  older  times 
:dded  Lyonors, 
r,  says  Lynette> 


TH£  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


3«l 


THE    LAST    TOURNAMENT. 


DaSonet,   the  fool,  whom  Gawain  in  his 

moods 
Had  made  mock-knight  of  Arthur's  Table 

Round, 
At  Camelot,  high  above  the  yellowing  woods, 
Danced  like  a  wither'd  leaf  before  the  Hall. 
And  toward  him  from  the  Hall,  with  harp  in 

hand, 
Avd  from  the  crown  thereof  a  carcanet 
Of  .'uby  swaying  to  and  fro,  the  prize 
Of  Tristram  in  the  jousts  of  yesterday, 
Cane  Tristram,  saying,  "Why  skip  ye  so. 

Sir  Fool?" 

For  Arthur  and  Sir  Lancelot  riding  once 
Far  down  beneath  a  winding  wall  of  rock 
Heard  a  child  wail.    A  stump  of  oak  half- 
dead. 
From  roots  like  some  black  coil  of  carven 

snakes 
Clutch'd  at  the  crag,  and  started  thro'  mid- 
air 
Bearini;  an  eagle's  nest :  and  thro'  the  tree 
JRush'd  ever   a  rainy  wind,  and   thro'   the 

wind 
Pierced  ever  a  child's  cry:   and  crag  and 

tree 
Scaling,  Sir  Lancelot  from  the  perilous  nest. 
This  ruby  necklace  thrice  around  her  neck, 
And    all     unscarr'd    from    beak  or    talcn, 

brought 
A  maiden  babe  ;  which  Arthur  pitying  took. 
Then  pave  it  to  his  Queen  to  rear :   the 

Queen 
But  coldly  acquiescing^  in  her  white  arms 
Received,  and  after  loved  it  tenderly, 
And  named  it  Nestling ;  so  forgot  herself 
4i  moment,  and  her  cares ;  fill  that  young 

life 
Being  smitten  in  mid-heaven  with' mortal 

cold 
Past  from  her  ;  and  in  time  the  carcanet 
Vext  her  with  plaintive  memories  of  the 

child : 
So  she,  delivering  it  to  Arthur,  said, 
"  Take  thou  the  jewels  of  this  dead  inno- 
cence, 
And  make  them,  an  thou  wilt,  a  tourney- 
prize." 

'■^     ~"^'     ■■'•"Ei        i  catc   It)    liiine 

eagle-borne 
Dead  nestling,  and  this  honor  after  death, 
Following  thy  will!    but,   O  my  Queen,   I 

muse 
Why  ye  not  wear  on  arm,  or  neck,  or  zone. 
Those  diamonds  that   I   rescued  from   the 

tarn, 
And  Lancelot  won,  .nithought,  for  thee  to 

wear." 


"  Would  rather  ye  had  let  them  fal'."  she 

cried, 
"  Plunge    and    be   lost  —  ill-fated  as    they 

were, 
A  bitte-ness  to  me  I  —  ye  look  amazed. 
Not  knowing  they  were    lost   as   soon    as 

given  — 
Slid  from  my  hands,  when  I  was  leaning 

out 
Above  the  river  —  that  unhappy  child 
Past  in  her  barge  :  but  rosier  luck  will  go 
With  these  rich  jewels,  seeing   that    they 

came 
Not  from  the  skeleton  of  a  brother-iilayer. 
But  the  sweet  body  of  a  maiden  babe. 
Perchance  —  who  knows? —the   purest    of 

thy  knights 
May  win  them  for  the  purest  of  my  maids." 

She  ended,  and  the  cry  of  a  great  jousta 
With  trumpet-blowings  ran  on  all  the  ways 
From  Camelot  in  among  the  faded  fields ' 
To   furthest    towers ;   and  everywhere    the 

knights 
Arm'd  for  a  day  of  glory  before  the  King. 

But  on  the  hither  side  of  that  loud  mom 
Ii!*o  the  hall  stagger'd,  his  visage  ribb'd 
From  ear  to  ear  with   dogwbip- weals,  his 

nose 
Bridge-broken,  one  eye  out,  and  one  hand 

off, 
And  one    with    shatter'd    fingers    dangling 

lame, 
A  churl,  to  whom  indignantly  the  King, 
"  My  churl,  for  whom  Christ  died,  what 

evil  beast 
Hath  drawn  his  claws  athwart  thy  face  ?   or 

fiend? 
Man  was  it  who  nrarr'd  Heaven's  image  in 

thee  thus?" 

Then,  sputtering  thro'  the  hedge  of  splin- 

ter'd  teeth. 
Yet  strangers  to  tiie  tongue,  and  with  blunt 

stump 
Pitch-blacken'd  sawing   the   air,   said   the 

maim'd  churl, 
"  He  took  them  aud  he  drave  them  to  his    . 

tower  — 
Some  hold  he  was  a  table-knight  of  thine  — 
A  hunched  goodly  ones  —  the  Red  Knight, 

he  — 
Lord,    I  was  tending  swine,  and  the  Red 

Knight 
Ilrake  in  upon  me  and  drave  them  to  his 

tower  ; 
And  when  I  call'd  upon  thy  name  as  one 
That  dnest  right  by  gentle  and  by  churl, 


3aa 


THE  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


Maim'd  me  and  maul'd,  and  would  outright 

have  slain, 
Save  that  he  sware  me  to  a  message,  say- 
ing— 
'  Tell  thou  the  King  and  all  his  liars,  that  I 
Have    founded   my   Round    Table    in  the 

North, 
And  whatsoever  his  ownlcnights  have  sworn 
My  knights  have  sworn  the  counter  to  it  — 

and  say 
My  tower  is  full  of  harlots,  like  his  court, 
But  mine  are  worthi  —,  seeing  they  profess 
To    be  none  other  than  themselves— and 

say 
My  knights  are  all  adulterers  like  his'own. 
But  mine  are  truer,  seeing  they  profess 
To    be  none  other;    and  say  his  hour   is 

come. 
The  heathen  are  upon  him,  his  long  lance 
Broken,  and  his  Excalibur  a  straw.'  " 

Then  Avthur  turn'd  to  Kay  the  seneschal, 
"Take  thou  ray  churl,  and  tend  him  curi- 
ously 
Like  a  king's  heir,  till  all  his  hurts  be  whole. 
The  heathen  —  but  that  ever-climbing  wave, 
Hurl'd  back  again  so  often  in  empty  foam, 
1  lath  lain  frf  years  at  rest  —  and  renegades. 
Thieves,    bandits,    leavings    of    confusion, 

whom 
The  wholesome  realm  is  purged  of  other- 
where, — 
Friends,    thro'    your   manhood    and   your 

i^altjr,  —  now 
Make    their   last    head  like  Satan  in    the 

North. 
My  younger  knights,  new-made,  in  whom 

your  flower 
Waits  to  be  solid  fruit  of  golden  deeds. 
Move  with  me  toward  their  quelling,  which 

achieved. 
The  loneliest  ways  are  safe  from  shore  to 

shore. 
Bu*  thou.  Sir  Lancelot,  sitting  in  my  plr.ce 
Enchair'd  to-morrow,  arbitrate  the  field  ; 
For  wherefore  shouldst  thou  care  to  mingle 

with  it. 
Only  to  yield  my  Queen  her  own  again  ? 
Spea'<,  Lancelot,  thou  art  silent :  is  it  well  ?  " 

Thereto  Sir   Lancelot  answer'd,    "  It    is 
well : 
Yet  better  if  the  King  abide,  and  leave 
The  leading  of  his  younger  knights  to  me. 
Else,  for  the  King  has  will'd  it,  it  is  well." 

Then  Arthur  rose  and   Lancelot  follow'd 

him, 
And  while  they  stood  without  the  doors,  the 

Kin? 
Turn'd  to  liim  saying,  "  Is  it  then  so  well  ? 
Or  mine  the  blame  that  oft  I  seem  ?    he 
Of  whom  was  written,    '  a  sound  is  in  his 

ears '  — 
The    foot    that   loiters,    bidden    go,  —  the 

glance 
That  only  seems  half-loyal  to  command,  — 
A  manr.er  somewhat  fall'n  from  rc-verence  — 


Or  have  Idream'd  the  bearing  of  our  knights 
Tells  of  a  manhood  ever  less  and  lower? 
Or  whence  the  fear  lest  this  my  realm,  up- 
rear'd,  ► 

By  noble  deeds  at  one  with  noble  vows. 
From  flat  confusion  and  hruie  violences. 
Reel  back  into  the  beast,  aud  be  no  more?" 

He   spoke, .  and  taking  all    his  younger 

knights, 
Down  the  slope  city  rode,  and  sharply  turn'd 
North  by  the  gate.     In  her  high  bower  the 

Queen, 
Working  a  tapestry,  lifted  up  her  head, 
watch'd  her  lord  pass,  and  knew  not  that 

she  sigh'd. 
Then  ran  across  her  memory  the  strange 

rhyme 
Of  bygone  Merlin, "  Where  is  he  who  knows  ? 
From  the  great  deep  to  the  great  deep  he 

goes." 

But  when  the  morning  of  a  tournament. 
By  these  in  earnest  those  in  mockery  call'd 
The  Tournament  of  the  Dead  Innocence, 
Brake  with  a  wet  wind  blowing,  Lancelot, 
Round  whose  sick  head  all  night,  like  birds 

of  prey, 
The  words  of  Arthur  flying  shriek'd,  arose. 
And  down  a  streetway  hung  with  folds  of 

pure 
White    samite,   and   by  lountains  running 

wine. 
Where  chilc.en  sr.t  in  white  with  cups  of 

fold, 
to  the  lists,  and  there,  with  slow  sad 
steps 
Ascending,  fiU'd  his  double-dragon'd  chair. 

He  glanced  and  saw  the  stately  galleries. 
Dame,  damsel,  each  thro'  worship  of  their 

Queen 
White-robed  in  honor  of  the  stainless  child. 
And  some  with  scattir'd  jewels,  like  a  bank 
Of  maiden  snow  mingled  with  sparks  of  fire. 
He  lookt  but  once,  and  veil'd  his  eyes  again. 

The  sudden  trumpet  sounded  as  in  a  dream 
To  ears  but  half-awaked,  then  one  low  roll 
Of  Autumn  thunder,  and  the  jousts  began  : 
And  ever  the  wind  blew,  and  yelfowing  leaf 
And  gloom  and  gleam,  and  shower  and  shorn 

plume 
Went  down  it.     Sighing  weariedly,  as  one 
Who  sits  and  gazes  on  a  faded  fire. 
When  all  the  gooalier  euests  are  past  away. 
Sat  their  great  umpire,  looking  o'er  the  lists. 
He  saw  the  laws  that  ruled  the  tournament 
Broken,  but  spake  not ;  once.  :   "-   ght  cast 

d.-)wri 
Before  his  throne  of  arbitration  curf.c'. 
The  dead  babe  and  the  folhes  o*'»''e  iCing ; 
And  once  the  laces  of  a  helmet  crack'd. 
And  show'd  him,  like  a  vemir  in  its  hole, 
Modred,  a  narrow  face  :  anou  nc  heard 
The  voice  that  billcw'd  round  the  barriers 

roar 
An  ocean-sounding  welcome  to  one  knight. 


learing  of  our  kn'ghts 
■  less  ai)d  lower  ? 
it  this  my  realm,  up- 

^ith  noble  vows, 
hruie  violences, 
t,  and  be  no  more?" 

tig  all   his  younger 

e,  and  sharply  tum'd 
her  high  bower  the 

:d  up  her  heat!, 
and  knew  not  that 

nemory  the  strange 

;re  is  he  who  knows  ? 
i  the  great  deep  he 


;  of  a  tournament, 
5  in  mockery  call'd 
Dead  Innocence, 
lowing,  Lancelot, 
all  night,  like  birds 

ng  shriek'd,  arose, 
hung  with  folds  of 

fountains   running 

white  with  cups  of 

ibere,  with  slow  sad 

ble-dragon'd  chair. 

le  stately  galleries, 
■o'  worship  of  their 

the  stainless  child, 
jewels,  like  a  bank 
with  sparks  of  fire, 
eil'd  his  eyes  again. 

undedasinadream 
,  then  one  low  roll 
the  jousts  began  : 
and  yeHowing  leaf 
id  shower  and  shorn 

weariedly,  as  one 
faded  fire, 
esfs  are  past  away, 
oking  o'er  the  lists. 
;d  the  tournament 
once.  :   '-   ght  cast 

ration  curf  :'. 
jlliMof^'a  iCing; 
elniet  crack'd, 
emir  in  its  hole, 
anoi.  iK  heard 
round  the  barriers 

me  to  one  knight, 


THE  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


3»3 


But  newly  enter'd,  taller  than  the  rest, 
And  armor'd  all  in  forest  preen,  whereon 
There  iript  a  hundred  tiny  silver  deer, 
And  wearing  but  a  holly-spray  for  crest, 
With  ever-scattering  berries,  and  on  shield 
A  spear,  a  harp,  a  hug..  —  Tristram  — late 
From  overseas  in  Britta.iy  return'd, 
And  marriage  with  a  princess  of  that  realm, 
Isolt    the    White  —  Sir    Tristram    of    the 

Woods  — 
Whom  Lancelot  knew,  had  held  sometime 

with  pain 
His  own  against  him,  and  now  yearn'd  to 

shake 
The  burthen  off  his  heart  in  one  full'shock 
With   Tristram   ev'n   to  death :   his  strong 

hands  gript 
And  dinted  the  gilt  dragons  right  and  left. 
Until   he  groan'd  for  wrath  — so  many  of 

those, 
That  ware  their  IJdies'  colors  on  the  casque, 
Drewfri-m  before  Sir  Tristram  to  the  bounds. 
And  there  with  gibes  and  flickering  mock- 
eries 
Stood,  while  he  r"utter'd,' "Craven  crests! 

O  shame ! 
What  faith  h^ve  these  in  whom  they  sware 

to  love? 
The  glory  of  our  Round  Table  is  no  more." 

So  Tristram  won,  and  Lancelot  gave,  the 
gems, 
Not  speakmg  ether  word  than  "  Hast  thou 

won? 
Art  thou  the  purest,  brother?    See,  the  hand 
Wherewith  thou  takest  is  red  I  "  to  whom 
Tristram,   half  plagued  by  Lancelot's   lan- 
guorous mood. 
Made  answer,  "  Ay,  but  wherefore  toss  ne 

this 
Like  a  dry  bone  cact  to  some  hungry  hound  i 
Let  be  thy  fair  Queen's  fantasy.     Strent;th 

of  heart 
And  might  of  limb,  but  mainly  use  and  skill. 
Are  winners  in  this  pastime  of  our  King. 
My  hand  — belike  the  lance  hath  dript  upon 

No   blood   of  mine,   I  trow;  but  O  chief 

knight. 
Right  arm  of  Arthur  in  the  battlefield, 
Great  brother,  thou  nor  I  have  made  the 

world ; 
Be  happy  in  thy  fair  Queen  as  I  in  muie." 

And  Tristram  round  the  gallery  made  his 

horse 
Caracole;  then  bow'd  his  homage,  bluntly 

saying, 
'Fair  damsels,  each  to  him  who  worships 

each 
Sole  Queen  of  Beauty  and  of  love,  behold 
This  day  my  Queen  of  Beauty  is  not  here." 
Then  most  of  these  were  mute,  some  an- 

ger'd,  one 
Murmuring  "All    courtesy  is    dead,"   and 

one, 
"The  glory  of  our  Round  Table  is  no  more." 


Then  fell  thick  rain,  plume  droopt  and 
mantle  clung, 
And  pettish  cries  awoke,  and  the  wan  day 
Went  glooming  down  in  wet  and  weariness  : 
But  under  her  black  brows  a  swartliy  d  'aie 
Laught  shrilly,   crying  "Praise  the  patient 

saints, 
Our  one  white  day  of  Innocence  hath  past, 
Tho'  somewhat  draggled  at  the  skirt.     So  be 

it. 
The  snowdrop  only,  flow'ring  thro'  the  year. 
Would  make  the  world  as  blank  as  winter- 
tide. 
Come  — !  t  us  comfort  their  sad  eyes,  our 

Queen's 
And  Lancelot's,  at  this  night's  solemnity 
With  all  the  kindlier  colors  of  the  field." 

So  dame  and  damsel  glitter'd  at  the  feast 
Variously  gay :  for  he  that  tells  the  tale 
Liken'd  them,  saying  "as  when  an  hour  of 

cold 
Falls  on  the  mour    iin  in  midsummer  snows. 
And  all  the  puri.le  .^lopes  of  mountain  flowers 
Pass  under  white,  till  the  warm  hour  r«.      ns 
With   veer    of   wind,    and    ail   are    flowers 

again  "  ; 
So  dame  and  damsel  cast  the  simple  white. 
And  glowing  in  all  colors,  the  live  grass, 
Rose-cunpioii,    bluebell,    kingcup,    poppy, 

glanced 
About  the  levels,  and  with  mirth  so  Iniid 
Beyond  all  use,  that,  half-amazed,  the  Queen, 
And  wroth    at    Tristriun   and    the   lawless 

jousts. 
Brake   up  their  sports,  then   slowiy  to  her 

boA'er 
Parted,  and  in  her  bosom  pain  was  lord. 

And  little  Dagonet  on  the  morrow  mom. 
High  over  all  the  yellowing  Autumn-tide, 
Danced  like  a  wither'd  leaf  before  the  hall. 
Then  Tristram  saying,   "  Why  skip  ye  so, 

Sir  Fool?" 
Wheel'd  round  on  either  heel,  Dagonet  re- 
plied, 
"  Belike  for  lack  of  wiser  company ; 
Or  being  fool,  and  seeing  too  much  wit 
Makes  the  world  rotten,  why,  belike  I  skip 
To  know  myself  the  wisest  knight  of  all." 
"Ay,  fool,"  said  Tristram,  "  but  't  is  eating 

dry 
To  dance  without  a  catch,      roundelay 
To  dance   to."     Then  ht    wangled  on  his 

havp, 
And  while  he  twangled  little  Dagonet  stood, 
Quiet  as  any  water-sodden  log 
Stay'd  in  the  wandering  warble  o?  r>.  brook ; 
But  when  the  twangiins  ended,  skipt  again  ; 
Then  being  ask'd,  "  Why  skipt  ye  not.  Sir 

Fool  ?" 
Made  an.swer,  "  I  had  liefer  twenty  years 
Skip  to  the  broken  music  of  mv  brains 
Than  any  broken  music  ye  c?     make." 
Then  Tristram,  waiting  for  tl     quip  to  come, 
"Good    now,  what  music  have  I  broken, 
fool  ? " 


ii-»; 


334 


THE  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


I 


And  little  Dagonei,  skipping,  "Arthur,  the 

king's  ; 
For  when  thou  playest  that  air  wiOi  Queen 

Isolt, 
Thou  rnakest  broken  music  with  thy  bride, 
Her  daintier  namesake  dtiv>n  in  Briti.sny  — 
And  so  thou  breakest  Arthur's  music  too." 
"Save  for  that  broken  music  iu  thy  br.uns, 
Sir  Fool,"  said  Tristram,    "  I  would  break 

thy  head. 
Fool,   I  came  late,  the  heathen'  wars  were 

o'er, 
The  life  had  flown,  we  sware  but  by  the 

shell  — 
I  am  but  ^  fool  to  reason  with  a  fool. 
Come,  thou  art  crabb'd  and  sour:  but  lear, 

me  down, 
Sir  Dagonet,  one  of  thy  long  ivsses'  ears, 
And  hsarken  \iv'y  music  be  r'  >t  true. 

'"Free   lo'.    <ree  riald— -we  lovs  but 

while  we  <  I'-V  ; 
The  woods  arc  hi.Hh'd,  vhcir  music  is  no 

more : 
The  leaf  is  dead,  th'   ,  „niii)g  past  away: 
New  leaf,  now  iila--  'Ci  days  oi  frost  are 

o'er: 
New  lifs,  nevii  lovs  to  suit  the  newer  day : 
New  loves  are  sweet  as  those  that  went  be- 
fore : 
Free  love, —  free  fieid— we  love  but  while 
we  may.' 

"  Ye  might  have  moved  slow-measure  to 
my  tcne, 
Not  stood  sjockstill.    I  made  it  in  the  woods, 
And  found  it  ring  as  true  as  tested  gold." 

But  Dagonet  with  one  foot  poised  in  his 
hand, 
"  Friend,  did  ye  mark  that  fountain  yester- 
day 
Made  to  run  wine? — but  this  had  run  itself 
All  out  like  a  long  life_  to  a  sour  end  — 
And  them  that  round  it  sat  with  golden  cups 
To  hand  the  wine  to  whomsoever  came  — 
The  twelve  small  damosels  white  as  Inno- 
cence, 
In  honor  of  poor  Innocence  the  babe, 
Who  left  the  gems  which  Innocence   the 

Queen 
Lent  to  the  King,  and  Innocence  the  King 
Gave  for  a  prize  —  and  one  of  those  white 

slips 
Handed  her  cup  and  piped,  the  pretty  one, 
'Drink,  drink,  Sir  Fool,'  and  thereupon  I 

drank, 
Spat  —  pish  —  the  cup  was  gold,  the  draught 
was  mud." 
And    Tristram,    "  Was  it  muddier  than 
thy  gibes? 
Is  all  the  laughter  gone  dead  out  of  thee?  — 
Not  marking  how  tlie  knighthood  mock  thee, 

fool  — 
'Fear  God:  honor  the  VSw.'-    his  one  true 

knight  — 
Sole  follower  of  the  vow  '       for  here  be 
they 


Who  knew  thee  swine  enow  lejofs  f  came. 
Smuttier  than  blasted  grain  :  but  >v:ien  the 

King 
Had  made  thee  fool,  thy  va\;:  y  so   '^lot  up 
It  frighted  all  free  fool  from   •  ,t  iliv  hi.';u/  ; 
Which  le'';:  thee  le?;i  than  fool,  ini  ki;   tlian 

swiiie, 
A  na'-ted  a.ight  — y-t  swine  I  hold  thee  still. 
For  I  h;,ve  flung  the;;  pearls,  iw.A  fi.id  thee 

BW'.ue." 

And  y-VM  Dagonet  mincing  wiih  his  feet, 
"Knight,  til  ye  fling  those  rubies  iuiid  mi' 

neck 
In  lieu'of  -i-rs,  I  ii  hold  thou  hast  some 

touch 
Of  music,  since  I  care  not  fuv  thy  pearJ;, 
Swine?    I  have  w?.ilow  ',  I  have  » iish'd — 

the  vvorld 
Ts  flesh  and  shadow  —  I  have  h.i.l  rny  day. 
I'he  dirty  nurse,  Experience,  in  her  kind 
Hath  /oul'd    me  — an  I  wallow'd,  then  I 

wash'd  — 
I  have  had  my  day  and  my  philosophies  — 
And  thank  the  Lord  i^    ,m  King  Arthur's 

fool. 
Swine,  say  ye ?  swine,  gcais,  asses,  rams  and 

geese 
Troop'd  round  a  Paynin^  harper  once,  who 

thrumm'd 
On  such  a  wire  as  musicali/  is  thou 
Some  such  fine  song  —  bui-.  never  a  king's 

fool." 

And  Tristram,  "  Then  wert:  r.wine,  goats, 
asses,  geese 
The  wiser  fools,  seeing  thy  Paynim  bard 
Had  such  a  mastery  of  his  mywtery 
That  he  could  harp  his  wife  up  out  of  Hell." 

Then  Dagonet,  turning  on  the  ball  of  his 

foot, 
"  Antf" whither  harp'st  thou  thine?  down  I 

and  thyself 
Down !    and   two  more :  a  helpful  harper 

thou. 
That  harpest  downward  I    Dost  thou  know 

the  star 
We  call  the  harp  of  Arthur  up  in  heaven  ? " 

And  Tristram,  "Ay,  Sir  Fool,  for  when 
our  King 
Was  victor  wellnigh  day  by  day,  the  knights. 
Glorying  in  each  new  glory,  set  his  name 
High  on  all  hills,  and  in  the  signs  of  heaven. " 

And  Dagonet  answer'd,  "  Ay,  and  when 
the  land 
Was  freed,  and  the  Queen  f  'se,  ve  set  your- 
self _  "  " 
To  babble  about  him,  all  t             your  wit  — 
And  whether  he  were  kini,  ,  ,  ..     rtesy. 
Or  king  by  right  —  and         went    harping 

down 
The  black  king's  '  :ot  so  far,  and 

grew 
So  witty,  that  ye  p.  ;      ;^t  ducks  and  drakes 


I 


THE  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


now  iidiora  F  came, 
raiii :  liul  -v;ien  the 

va>.   y so  i'lot  up    , 
•om   ..,t  thy  hi;;Mi  ; 
1  iuA,  inilcM  than 

ine  I  bold  thee  still, 
earls,  ,.\.A  fi-.id  thee 


ncing  w!>h  his  feet, 
Dse  rubies  vvuiid  nn' 

>ld  thua  hast  some 

't  fti.1  thy  pe.i!!;. 
,?;  I  have  wi'sh'd  — 

havchd.i  my  day. 
ince,  in  her  kind 
I  wallow'd,  then  I 

ny  philosophies  — 
,m  King  Arthur's 

'ats,  asses,  rams  and 

ti  harper  once,  who 

»lij  is  thou 

but  never  a  king's 


were:  swine,  goats, 

hy  Paynim  bard 

is  mysuery 

rife  up  out  of  Hell." 

;  on  the  ball  of  his 

;hou  thine  ?  down  ! 

:   a  helpful   harper 

t    Dost  thou  know 

ur  up  in  heaven  ? " 

Sir  Fool,  for  when 

by  day,  the  knights, 
ry,  set  his  name 
le  signs  of  heaven." 

d,  "Ay,  and  when 

n  f  'sc,  ye  set  your- 

t"  your  wit  — 

IB  n,  .     rtesy, 
•  went    harping 

^ot  so  far,  and 

tt  ducks  and  drakes 


335 


With  Arthur's  vows  on  the  great  lake  of 

fire. 
Tuwhoo  !  do  ye  see  it  ?  do  ye  see  the  star  ?  " 
"Nay,  fool,"  said  Tristram,  "not  in  open 

day." 
And  Dagonet,  "  Nay,  nor  will :  I  see  it  and 

hear. 
It  makes  a  silent  music  up  in  heaven, 
And  I,  and  Arthur  and  the  angels  hear. 
And  then  we  skip."     "Lo,  fool,"  he   said, 

"ye  talk 
Fool's    treason:    is    the    king  thy  brother 

fool?" 
Then  little  Dagonet  clapt  his    hands   and 

shrill'd, 
"Ay,  ay,  my  brother  fool,  the  king  of  fools ! 
Conceits  himself  as  God  that  he  can  make 
Figs  out  of  thistles,  silk  from  bristles,  milk 
From  burning  spurge,  honey  from  hornet- 
combs. 
And  men  from  beasts.  —  Long  live  the  kine 

of  fools  1" 

And  down  the  city  Dagonet  danced  away. 
But  thro'  the  slowly-mellowing  avenues 
And  solitary  passes  ol  ihe  wood 
Rode  Tristram    toward    Lyonesse  and  the 

west 
Before  him  fled  the  face  of  Queen  Isolt 
With  niby-circled  neck,  but  evermore 
Past,  as  a  rustle  or  twitter  in  the  wood 
Made  dull  his  inner,  keen  his  outer  eye 
For  all  that  walk'd,  or  crept,  or  perched,  or 

flew. 
Anon    the    face,    as,    when    a  gust    hath 

blown, 
UnrufBing  waters  re-collect  the  shape 
Of  one  that  in  them  sees  himself,  return'd  ; 
But  at  the  slot  or  fewmets  of  a  deer, 
Or  ev'n  a  fall'n  feather,  vanish'd  again. 

So  on  for  all  that  day  from  lawn  to  lawn 
Thro*  many  a  league-long  bower  he  rode.   At 

length 
A  lodge  of  intertwisted  beechen-boughs 
Furze-era mm'd,  and  bracken-rooft,  the  which 

himself 
Built  for  a  summer  day  with  Queen  Isolt 
Against  a  shower,  dark  in  the  golden  grove 
Appearing,  sent  his  fancy  back  to  where 
She  lived  a  moon  in  that  low  lodge  with 

him : 
Till  Mark  her  lord  had  past,  the  Cornish 

king, 
With  six  or  seven,  when  Tristram  was  away. 
And  snatch'd  her  thence  ;  yet  dreading  worse 

than  shame 
Her  warrior  Tristram,  spake  not  any  word. 
But  bode  his  hour,  devising  wretchedness. 

And  now  that  desert  lodge  to  Tristram 
lookt 
So  sweet,  that,  halting,  in  he  past,  and  sank 
Down  on  a  drift  of  foliage  random-blown  ; 
But  could  not  rest  for  musing  how  to  smooth 
And  sleek  his  marriage  over  to  the  Queen. 
Perchance  in  lone  Tintagil  far  from  all 


The  tonguesters  of  the  court  she  had  not 

heard. 
But  then  what  folly  had  sent  him  overseas 
After  she  left  him  lonely  here  ?  a  name  ? 
Was  it  the  name  of  one  in  Brittany, 
Isolt,  the  daughter  of  the  King?    "  Isolt 
Ot  the  white  hands  "they  call'd  her;   the 

sweet  name 
Allured  him  first,  and  then  the  maid  herself. 
Who  served  him  well  with  those  white  hands 

of  hers, 
Andloved  him  well,  until  himself  had  thought 
He  loved  her  also,  wedded  easily. 
But  left  her  all  as  easily,  and  return'd. 
Ihe  black-blue  Irish  hair  and  Irish  eyes 
Had  draw n  him  home  —  what  marvel  ?  then 

he  laid 
His  brows  upon  tlie  drifted  leaf  and  dream'd. 

He  seem'd  to  pace  the  strand  of  Brittany 
Between  Isolt  of  Britain  and  his  bride. 
And  show'd  them  both  the  ruby-chain,  and 

both 
Began  to  struggle  for  it,  till  his  Queen 
Graspt  it  so  hard,  that  all  her  hand  was  red. 
Then  cried  the  Breton,  "  Look,  her  hand  is 

red ! 
These  be  no  rubies,  this  is  frozen  blood. 
And  melts  within  her  hand  — her  hand  is 

hot 
With  ill  desires,  but  this  I  gave  thee,  look, 
Is  all  as  cool  and  white  as  any  flower." 
Follow'd  a  rush  of  eagle's  wings,  and  then 
A  whimpering  of  the  spirit  of  the  child. 
Because  the  twain  had  spoil'd  her  carcanet. 

He  dream'd ;  but  Arthur  with  a  hundred 

spears 
Rode  far,  till  o'er  the  illimitable  reed, 
And  many  a  glancing  plash  and  sallowy  isle. 
The  wide-wing'd  sunset  of  the  misty  marsh 
Glared  on  a  huge  machicolated  tower 
That  stood  witn  open  doors,  whereout  was 

roll'd 
A  roar  of  riot,  as  from  men  secure 
Amid  their  marshes,  ruflSans  at  their  ease 
Among  their  hariot-brides,  an  evil  song. 
"  Lo  there,"  said  one  of  Arthur's  youtn,  for 

there. 
High  on  a  grim  dead  tree  before  the  tower, 
A  goodly  brother  of  The  Table  Round 
Swung  by  the  neck :  and  on  the  boughs  a 

shield 
Showing  a  shower  of  blood  in  a. field  noir. 
And  therebeside  a  horn,  inflamed  the  knights 
At  that  dishonor  done  the  gilded  spur. 
Till  each  would  clash  the  shield,  and  blow 

the  horn. 
But  Arthur  waved  them  back  ;  alone  he  rode. 
Then  at  the  dry  harsh  roar  of  the  great  horn, 
That  sent  the  face  of  all  the  marsh  aloft 
An  ever  upward-rushing  storm  and  cloud 
Of  shriek  and  plume,  the  Red  Knight  heard, 

and  all. 
Even  to  tipmost  lance  and  topmost  helm, 
In  blood-red  armor  sallying,  howl'd  to  the 

King, 


— . ^., 


3a6 


Tf/E  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


■^h     lli 


"The  teeth  of  Hell  flay  bare  and  gnash 

thee  flat!  — 
Lo !  art  tlioii  not  that  tunuch-hearted  King 
Who  fain  had  dipt  free  manhood  from  the 

world  — 
The  woman-worshipper  ?    Yea,  God's  curse, 

and  1 1 
Slain  was  the  brother  of  my  paramour 
By  a  knight  of  thine,  and  I  that  heard  her 

whine 
And  snivel,  being  eunuch-hearted  too, 
Sware  by  the  scorpion-worm  that  twists  in 

hell, 
And  stings  itself  to  everlasting  death. 
To  hang  vyhatever  knight  of  thine  I  fought 
And  tumbled      Art  thou  King?— Look  to 

thy  life  !  " 

He  ended:  Arthur  knew  the  voice;   the 
face 
Wellnigh  was  helmet-hidden,  and  the  name 
Went  wandering  somewhere  darkling  in  his 

mind. 
And  Arthur  deign'd  not  use  of  word   or 

sword. 
But  let  the  drunkard,  as  he  stretch'd  from 

horse 
To  strike  him,  overbalancing  his  bulk, 
Down   from   the    causeway  heavily  to  the 

swamp 
Fall,  as  the  crest  of  some  slow-arching  wave 
Heard  in  dead  night  along  that  table-shore 
Drops  flat,  and  after  the  great  waters  break 
Whitenmg  for  half  a  league,  and  thin  them- 
selves 
Far  over  sands  marbled  with    moon    and 

cloud, 
From  less  and  less  to  nothing;  thus  he  fell 
Head-heavy,  while  the  knights,  who  watch'd 

him,  roar'd 
And  shouted  and  leapt  down  upon  the  fall'n  ; 
There   trampled  out  his  face  from    being 

known, 
And  sank  his  head  in  mire,  and  slimed  them- 
selves ; 
Nor  heard  the  King  for  their  own  cries,  but 

^  sprang 
Thro    open  doors,  and  swording  right  and 

left 
Men,  women,  on  their  sodden  faces,  hurl'd 
The  tables  over  and  the  wines,  and  slew 
Till  all  the  rafters  rang  with  woman-yells. 
And  all  the  pavement  streara'd  with  mas- 
sacre : 
Then,  yell  with  yell  echoing,  they  fired  the 
tower, 

Which  half  that  autumn  night,  like  the  live 

North, 
Red-Pu'f'ng  up  thro'  Alioth  and  Alcor, 
Made  all  above  it,  and  a  hundred  meres 
About  It,  as  the  water  Moab  saw 
Come  round  by  the  East,  and  out  beyond 

them  flush'd 
The  long  low  dune,  and  lazy-plunging  sea. 


Then  out  of  Tristram  waking   the    red 
dream 
Fled  with  a  shout,  and  that  low  lodge  re- 

turn'd, 
Mid-forest,  and  the  wind  among  the  boughs. 
He  whistled  his  good  warhorse  left  to  graze 
Among  the  forest  greens,  vaulted  upon  him. 
And  rode  beneath  an  ever-showering  leaf. 
Till  one  lone  woman,  weeping  near  a  cross, 
Stay'd  him,   "Why  weep  ye?"     "Lord," 

she  said,  "m^  man 
Hath  left  me  or  is  dead " ;    whereon    he 

thought  — 
"  What  an  she  hate  me  now?    I  would  not 

this. 
What  an  she  love  me  still?    I  would  not 

that. 
I  know  not  what  I  would"  — but  said  to 

her,  — 
'A^*i  "'^"P  "°*  'hou,  lest,  if  thy  mate  return, 
He  find  thy  favor  changed  and  love  thee 

not"  — 
Then  pressing  day  by  day  thro*  Lyonesse 
Last  m  a  roky  hollow,  belling,  heard 
The  hounds  of  Mark,  and  felt  the  goodly 

hounds 
Yelp  at  his  heart,  but,  turning,  past  and 

^am'd 
Tintagil,  half  in  sea,  and  high  on  land, 
A  crown  of  towers. 


So  all  the  ways  were  safe  from  shore  to 
shore. 
But  in  the  heart  of  Arthur  pain  was  lord. 


.  ,  Down  in  a  casement  sat, 

A  low  sea-sunset  glorying  round  her  hair 
And  glossy-throated  grace,  Isolt  the  Queen. 
And  when  she  heard  the  feet  of  Tristram 

grind 
The   spiring  stone  that  scaled   about  her 

tower, 
Flush'd,  started,  met  him  at  the  doors,  and 

there 
Belted  his  body  with  her  white  embrace, 
Crymg  aloud,  "Not  Mark— nor  Mark,  my 

soul  I 
The  footstep  fluttered  me  at  first :  not  he  : 
Catlike  thro'  his  own  castle  steals  my  Mark. 
But  wamor-wise  thou  stridest  through  his 

halls 
Who  hates  thee,  as   I  him  — ev'n  to  the 

death. 
My  soul,  I  felt  my  hatred  for  my  Mark 
Quicken  within  me,  and  knew  that  thou  wert 

nigh." 
To  whom  Sir  Tristram  smiling,  "  I  am  here. 
Let  be  thy  Mark,  seeing  he  is  not  thine." 

And  drawing  somewhat  backward  she  re- 
plied, 

"  Can  he  be  wrong'd  who  is  not  ev'n  his 
own. 

But  save  for  dread  .of  thee  had  beaten  mc, 

Scratch  d,  bitten,  blinded,  marr'd  me  some- 
•    how  —  Mark  ? 

What  rights  are  his  that  dare  not  strike  for 
them? 

Not  lift  a  hand  — oot,  the*  he  found  me 
thus  I 

But  hearken,  have  ye  met  him?  hence  he 
went 


And 


m  waking    the    red 

that  low  lodge  re- 

I  among  the  boughs, 
irhorse  left  to  graze 
I,  vaulted  upon  him, 
5r-showering  leaf, 
eping  near  a  cross, 
ep  ye?"     "Lord," 
n 
ad "  ;    whereon    he 

now?    I  would  not 

still?    I  would  not 

nld"  — but  said  to 

:,  if  thy  mate  return, 
gee*  and  love  thee 

f  thro'  Lyonesse 

lling,  heard 

nd  felt  the  goodly 

turning,  past  and 

high  on  land, 

I  in  a  casement  sat, 
round  her  hair 
!,  Isolt  the  Queen. 
5  feet  of  Tristram 

scaled   about  her 

at  the  doors,  and 

jvhite  embrace, 
k— not  Mark,  my 

>t  first :  not  he  : 
le  steals  my  Mark, 
ridest  through  his 

lim  — ev'n   to  the 

for  my  Mark 
lew  that  thou  wert 

iling,  "  I  am  here, 
e  is  not  thine." 

backward  she  re- 

o  is  not  ev'n  his 

had  beaten  me, 
marr'd  me  some- 

iare  not  strike  for 

lo'  he  found   me 

t  him?  hence  he 


he 


To-day    for   three    days'    hunting- as 
said  —  6      oa 

And  so  returns  belike  within  an  hour. 

wirhlinr*''""-'^"'"'"°'">ou 

Because  he  hates  thee  even  more  than  fears  • 

nn'J""''  '■  ?"'•*'"="  """^  Passest  a*y  wood 
Cose  visor,  lest  an  arrow  from  the  bush 

helf''*  ""*  ''"  "'""^  "^'"^  ^'''^  a^d 
My  God,  the  measure  of  my  hate  for  Mark 
Is  as  the  measure  of  my  love  for  thee." 

S°'  "^^^^'^  °"«  way  by  hate  and  one  by 

'^'^'"'s'l^akl'""'  '"'"•    ''^'''"  '''*  "*•  ""d 
To  Tristram,  as  he  knelt  before  her,  saying, 
O  hunter,  and  O  blower  of  the  horli,        ^ 
Harper,  and  thou  hast  been  a  rover  too. 
For  ere  I  mated  with  ray  shambling  kii^e, 
Ye  twam  had  fallen  out  about  the  bride 
Ofone  —  his  name  is  out  of  me -the  prize 
If  prize  she  were  -  (what  marvel  -  she  could 

SC6)  —^ 

^""'"^ seeks"**'    *""*  *""■  "'"*=*  "y  "^^«" 
^°    "Kn^ht**"   ^'"anously:   but,    O    Sir 


And  Tristram,  "  Last  to  my  Queen  Para- 
mount, 

^^'a\TV°  "y  Q",""  Paramount  of  love, 

H^r  l^K  '?"^^r'  '°^*''"  t*"^"  '*''«  first 
Her  light  feet  fell  on  our  rough  Lyonesse 
Sailing  from  Ireland."  lyonesse, 

"Flatt,.r  mA  „«f    c       S°ft'y'augh*d  Isolt, 
flatter  me  not,  for  hath   not  our  great 

Queen  ° 

Wr°h.f  ^''*?"!.y  trebled  ? "  and  he  said, 
AnH  tMn     -^  "  '"''■  ''""'y-  ""'^  '•'•ne  thine, 

kind-  '"°'''  '°  nie-soft,  gracious. 
Save  whenthy  Mark  is  kindled  on  thy  lips 

fi^*"""''       '  ^'^'''  ''''"ehty,  ev'n  to 
T^"^tv'  '•^°''}  ''av?/""  ''"™  wan  enow 
HavT^ffi  ^^liZlP  ^"*  Q""» 

"Ah  then,  false  hunter  and  faUe  feS 
Who  breakest  thro'  the  scruple  of  my  bond 
Call  ng  me  thy  white  hind,  and  saying  to  me 

W^ZT"  '''""^''    "^^   '"' 

And  I  — inisyoked  with    such 

man  — 
That  I  could  hardly  sin  agai— . 


THE  LAST  TOURNAMENT. 


a   want  of 


^he  lowest." 

rf^.Js'h.T'''''*'  "O  !"y.so'''.  be  comforted  I 
If  Ins  be  sweet,  to  sin  in  leading-strings. 
If  here  be  comfort,  and  if  ours  be  sin,^' 


3»7 

Crown^d^  warrant  had  we  for  the  crowning 
That  made^us  happy  :  but  how  ye  greet  me 
And  faulty  a^,d  doubt -no  word  of  that  fond 
Thy  deep  heart-yearnings,  thy  sweet  memo- 
Of  Tristram  in  that  year  he  was  away." 

'^"''isoTt?''''"'''*'   °"    "'^  ''"'^''*"'  ''P^'^e 
Tn  ^^^  '^°':8°"en  all  in  my  strong  joy 

Xter7'''"'"^'''-='y"^''  hour 
Here  in  the  never-ended  afternoon, 
O  sweeter  than  all  memories  of  thee, 

feas^        tar-rolhug,   westward-smiling 

^""''dash'T  "•''  '°**'-    ^'°"  "f  S"'»'" 
WoulH  ^',?"  "fB^ttany  on  the  strand, 

"Ve'ddedt ?*=''"■''    h-  •^"d-ki"? 
^""^''there?''"  '^*"'"'^  ''**""'    wounded 
The  King  was  all  fulfill'd  with  gratefulness 
And  she,  ^my  namesake  of  the^andi  that 

^^^    ca"rls-''   '*"'■'    *"•'    ""K"^"'    ''"d 
-nfi'T*^^"  ^wish  her  any  huger  wrone 
Ihan  having  known  thee  ?  her  too  hast^hou 

To  pine  and  waste  in  those  sweet  memories? 
love"  ''"'*  '"°''*  *''^" 

^"''replied'""'  '""'"'"^  ''"  "^'"  ''*'"'^' 
"  ^"  m'e^"e'ir'  '*"'  ''*'°^  '°''"^-'  ^•'^  '°^«d 

IsoIt?-  I  fought  his  battles,  for  Isolt ! 

"lfJ*t,W3^  d^'''';  the  true  star  set. 
The  name  was  ruler  of  the  dark Isolt  ? 

mtek""  ""'  ^^''*"''  *"^  prayerful. 
Pale-blooded,  she  will  yield  herself  to  God." 

Mi^»^-  'f^°"»"swer'd,  "  Yea,  and  why  not  I? 
PnUW  '^^'"g"  need,  who  am  not  meek, 
now     '  P'^y"^"^'     ^et  me  tell  thee 

Here  one  black,  mute  midsummer  night   I 
sat  ° 

^°"^' where'    """^'"^   °"    "'^^*   wondering 
^"™sin"^  'a  light  song  I  had  heard  thee 

Then"  fl?.li'.V''T  ^-  '1?='''^  •''y  "^'"'e  a'0"d. 
Ihen  flash  d  a  levin-brand;   and  near  me 

stood, 
In  fuming  sulphur  blue  and  green,  a  fiend  — 
Mark's  way  to  steal  behind  one  in  the  dark  - 


If  .. 


M 


3'S 


rr/r   r  ,isr  TOURNAMENT. 


For  there  was  Mark  :  '  ■   c  i,.^:  ner,' 

he  said. 
Not  said,  but  hiss'd  ^t  ■.  llicu  this  crown  of 

towers 
So  shook  to  such  a  'lar  of  all  the  sky, 
That  here  in  uit'  i  dark  I  swoon'd  away. 
And  woke  again  in  utter  dark,  and  cried, 
'I  will  flee  iien(  <>  and  give  myself  to  God  ' — 
And  thou  wert   lying  in   thy  new  Icman's 

arms." 

Then  Tristram,  ever  dallying    with   her 

iiand, 
"May  God  be  with  thee,  sweet,  when  old 

and  gray, 
And  past  desire  ! "    a  saying  that  anger'd 

her. 
" '  ftf  .1'  God  be  with  thee,  sweet,  when  thou 

art  old, 
And  i.w'iet  no  more  to  me  I '    I  need  Him 

now. 
Fn  when  had  Lancelot  utfer'd  aught  so  gross 
£v'n  to  the  swineherd's malkin  in  the  mast? 
The  greater  man,  the  greater  courlesy. 
But    thou,    thro'    ever    harrying    thy    wild 

beasts  — 
Save  that  to  to.ich  a  harp,  tilt  with  a  lance 
Becomes  thee  well  —  art  grown  wild  beast 

thyself. 
How  darest  thou,  if  lover,  push  me  ever 
In  fancy  from  thy  side,  and  set  me  far 
In  the  gray  distance,  li.ilf  a  life  away, 
Her  to  be  loved  no  more  ?    Unsay  it,  un- 

swear  I 
Flatter  me  rather,  seeing  me  so  weak. 
Broken  with  Mark  and  hate  and  solitude. 
Thy  marriage  and  mme  own,  that  1  should 

suck 
Lies  like  sweet  wines  :  lie  to  me  :  I  believe. 
Will    ye  not  lie?    not  swear,  as  theic  ye 

kneel, 
And  solemnly  as  when  ye  sware  to  him, 
The  man  of  men,  our  King  —  My  God,  the 

power 
Was  once  in  vows  wl.       rnen  b     2ved  the 

King! 
They  lied  not  then,  who  sware,  and  thro' 

their  vows 
The  King  prevailing  made  ]v'-  realm :  —  I 

-    say. 
Swear  to  me  thou  wilt  love  me  ev'n  when 

old, 
Gray-haired,   and  past  desire,   and  in  de- 
spair." 

Then  Tristram,   pacing  moodily  up  -  -  ^ 

down, 
"Vows!  did  ye  keep  the  vow  ye  ma' 

Mirk 
More  '-i'.sn  I  mine?    Lied,  =ay  ye? 

but  learnt. 
The  vow  that   binds  too  strictly  snaps   it- 

self- 
My  knighthood  taught  me  this— ay,  being 

snapt  — 
We  run  more  rmnter  to  the  soul  thereof 
Than   had   we   never  sworn.     I    swear    no 

more. 


I  swore  to  the  great  King,  and  am  forsworn. 

For  once— ev'n  to  the  height— 1  lionor'd 
him. 

'  Man,  is  he  man  at  all  ? '  methought,  wlien 
first 

I  ro(!e  from  our  rough  Lyonesse,  and  be- 
held 

That  victor  of  the  Pagan  throned  in  hall  — 

His  hair,  a  sun  that  ray'd  from  off  a  brow 

'  "     '   '  high  in  heaven,  the  steel-blue 

The  golden  beard  tnat  clothed  his  lips  with 

light  — 
Moreover,  that  weird  legend  of  his  birth. 
With  Merlin's  mystic  babble  about  his  end, 
Amazed  me  ;  then,  his  foot  was  on  a  stool 
Shaped  as  a  dragon  ;  he  seem'd  to  me  no 

man, 
But  Michael  trampling  Satan  :  so  I  sware, 
Being  amazed  :  but  this  went  by  —  the  vows  I 
O  ay  —  the  wholesome  madness  of  an  hour  — 
They  served  their  use,  their  time;  f  r  every 

knight 
Believed  himself  a  greater  than  himself, 
And  every  follower  eyed  him  as  a  God  : 
Till  he,  beinp  lifted  up  beyond  himself. 
Did  mightier  deeds  than  elsewise  he  had 

done, 
vnd  so  the  realm  was  made  ;  but  then  their 

vows  — 
First    mainly    thro'    that    sullylc^    of  our 

Queen  — 
Began     to     gall     the     knighthood,    asking 

whence 
Had  Arthur  right  to  bind  them  to  himself? 
Dropt  down  from  heaven  ?  wash'd  up  from 

out  the  deep? 
They  fail'd  to  trace  him  thro'  the  flesh  and 

blood 
Of  our  old  Kings  :  whence  then  ?  a  doubtful 

lord 
To  bind  thei'i  by  inviolable  v-ws, 
'Vhich  flesh  and  blood  perforce  would  vio- 
late : 
or  feel  this  arm  pf  mine—  the  tide  within 
Ked  w  ith  free  chase  and  heather-scented  air. 
Pulsing  full  man  ;  can  Arthur  make  tne  pure 
As  any  maiden  cl  ild  '  lock  up  my  tongue 
From  uttering  freely  what  I  freely  hear? 
Bird  me  to  one:      The  great  world  laughs 

at  it. 
A\,i\  worldling  of  the  world  am  I,_and  know 
The  pfrrinigan  that  whiteijs.  ere  his  hour 
W  i  1  .  iiis  own  end  ;  we  are  not  n  gels  here 
Nc  siiall  be  ;  vws —  I  am  wo'  ui.ian  of  the 

woods, 
.lear  the  gamet-heaHed  yaffingale 
'<  them  :  my  soul,  v     love  but  while  we 


An 


may ; 


Seeii.g  it  is  not  bounded  ir„ivi^  by  love.  ' 

Here  ending,  he  nioveu   soward  her,  and 
she  said, 
"  Good  :  an  I  turn'd  away  my  love  for  thee 
To    some   one  thrice  as  courteous  as  thy- 
self— 
For  courtesy  wins  woman  all  as  well 


Cing,  ami  am  forsworn, 
ilie  height —  1   honor'd 

ill  ? '  methought,  wHen 
gh  Lyonesse,  and  be- 
gan throned  in  hall  — 
;>y'd  from  off  a  brow 
heaven,  the  steel-blue 

at  clothed  his  lips  with 

legend  of  his  birth, 
baTjble  about  his  end, 
is  foot  was  on  a  stool 
;  he  seem'd  to  me  no 

ig  Satan  :  so  I  sware, 
lis  went  by  —  the  vows  I 
e  madness  of  an  hour^ 
,  their  time;  f "r  every 

eater  than  himself, 
yed  him  as  a  God  : 
p  beyond  himself, 
than  elsewise  he  had 

made  ;  but  then  their 

that   sullying    of  our 

knighthood,    asking 

lind  them  to  himself? 
:aven  ?  wash'd  up  from 

im  thro'  the  flesh  and 

iience  then  ?  a  doi  btful 

alable  v-  vvs, 

)d  perfor.:e  would  vio- 

mine —  the  tide  within 
nd  heather-scented  air. 
I  Arthur  make  me  pure 
lock  up  my  tongue 
vhat  I  freely  hear  ? 
he  great  world  laughs 

world  an-;  I.anJ  know 
hiieiJt.  ere  his  hour 
we  are  not  rdgels  here 
I  am  WO'  Ui.ian  of  the 

eaded  yafSn^ale 

,  w«  love  but  while  we 

»vc  s-"-  large  fn:  !hss, 
ed  save  by  love." 

ovect  toward  her,  and 

iway  my  love  for  thee 
as  courteous  as  thy- 

aan  ail  as  well 


uV  r    ."^i"''",^"'  ^'  'li^  <='<">"  both 
Is  perfect   he  is  Lancelot- taller  indeed 
Rosier,  and  comelier,  thou -but  say  I  loved 
lh.s  Kmghthest  of  all  knights,  and  cVst  thee 

Thine  own  small  saw  •  We  love  but  while  we 
Well  then,  what  answer  ? " 

.»•  J/-  ,     ,     .        He  that  while  she  snake 
M.adful  of  what  he  brought  to  adorn  he^ 

The  jewels,  had  let  one  finger  lightly  touch 

The  warm  white  apple  of  her  throat,  replied" 

Press  this  a  l.ttle  closer,  sweet,  until  -     ' 

i-ome,   I  am  hunger'd  and  half-anger'd — 

meat,  " 

'^^'"'"deii'h"""^  I  will  love  thee  to  the 

And  out  beyond  into  the  dream  to  come." 

S°  'accord''*"  '^°"*  **''*  '"■°"«'"  t°  f"H 

And  .fter  these  had  comforted  the  blood 

heart's-  "^  ""'^  ^'"''"*''  "'«'' 

Th^JfJ^'lf:  °j  «»"=!'■  woodland  paradise, 
Ihe  deer,  tfie  dews,  the  fern,  the  founts  the 

Jawns  ; 
Now  mocking  at  the  much  ungainliness, 

"u^k-'^'"'  '""^  l°°g  wane  legs  of 

Thon  Tristram  laughing  caught  the  harp, 
no  sang  ' ' 

"■^^bri.^"  °  *y  ~"'*  '''"ds  that  bend  the 
A  star  in        ven,  a  star  within  the  mere  ! 
^y.  ay,       ay  --  a  star  was  my  desire. 
And  01.  ^  was  far  a:     -,  and  one  was  near :     1 


To  TUB  QUEE^. 


3«« 


Ay. 


»the   winds    that  bow  the 


«y.   O  ay- 

ri.imI 

And  one  was  water  and  one  star  was  fire 
And  one  will  ever  shine  and  one  will  p4. 
Ay.  ay,  O  ay  _  the   winds  that   moVe  the 

^'''"liow'd"  ''^''''''  '"*'  S"'""'"  Tristram 
And  swung  the  ruby  carcanet.     She  cried, 

1  he  collar  of  some  order,  which  our  Kinir 
Hath  newly  founded,  all  for  thee,  mv  sou 

pe^rs""''*'^   "^"   «"«   be/ond  thy 

"  ^"U'Lk^  ^"""•"  ^^  '^''^'  "  ^^^  ""^ 

Al7'^r!'V  'V^^'"  ""''-"•ee  in  mid-heaven. 
And  won  by  i  ristram  as  a  tourney-prize 
And  hi^icr  brought  by  Tristram  foM  is  ast 
Love-ofTenng  and  peace-offering  unto  Thee  " 

Claspt  it;  but  while  he  bowM  himself  to  lav 
Warm  kisses  in  the  hollow  of  her  thro,it,  ^ 
Oil  of  the  dark,  ,ust  as  the  lips  had  touch'd. 
Behind  him  rose  a  shadow  and  a  shriek  - 

VJ'J''\'''^'^  Mark,  and  clove  him 
thro  the  brain, 


^''^he"  cHniVd"*  '^''"""'  *'°'"*''  ^""^  '"^''^ 
All  in  a  death-dumb  autumn-dripping  gloom 

Thl  lTJoV°  '^\''^"'  ''"^  Jo"k'^  and  saw 

I  ne  great  Queen's  bower  was  dark,  —  about 

his  feet  «""m 

A  voice  clung  sobbing  till  h3  question'd  it, 
Whait^art  tRou  ?  "  and  the  voice  about  his 

A^"^'  "P  an  answer,  sobbing,  "  I  am  thvfool, 
And  I  shall  never  make  thee  smile  again." 


O  LOYAL  to  the  royal  in  thyself. 
And  loyal  to  thy  land,  as  this  to  thee  - 
Bear  witness,  that  rememberable  day. 
When,   pale  as  yet,    and    fever-wora,    the 

Prince 

Who  scarce  had  pluck'd  his  flickering  life 

again  ° 

From  Jalf-way  down   the   shadow  of  the 

^"^  iove  *''"  *'"'°'  '^y  •'^"P'^  ''"^  '•^ei' 
And  London  roll'd  one  tide  of  joy  thro'  all 
Her  trebled  millions,  and  loid  If     ues  of 

man 
And  welcome  I  witness,  too,  the  silent  cry, 


TO    THE    QUEEN. 

EPILOGUE  TO  THE  IDYLS. 


The  prayer  of  many  a  race  and  creed.  :>ad 

clime  —  ' 

Thunderless  li.i;htnings  striking  under  sea 
And   thl'^''^.'  and  sunrise  of  all  thy  realm, 

heird  "*  '   "^^^'^"^  we  lately 

"^ '""'sfiis'!'^"'* "'  "''"p  y°" '"  y°"'- 

So  loyal  is  too  costly  !  friends  -  your  love 
U  h?'  a  burden  :  loos,   ;he  bond,  and  go  " 

lia^ml;.'."'"''  ?f  ^-TIP-??  here 'the  fti.h 
Ihat  made  us  rulers  ?  this,  indeed,  her  voice 

"font"^''  *''°"'  """  '°"  °^  "°"S°"- 
Left  mightiest  of  all  peoples  under  heaven  ? 


SJft 


TO  THE  QUEEtf. 


What  shock  has  fool'd  Hfer  since,  that  she 

should  speak 
So  feebly  ?  wealthier  —  wealthier  —  hour  by 

hour  I 
The  voice  of  Britain,  or  a  sinking  land. 
Some  third-rate   isle    half  st    among    her 

seasf 
Thtrt  rang  her  voice,   when  the  full   city 

peaM 
Thee  and  thy  Prince  I    The  loyal  to  their 

crown 
Are  loyal  to  their  own  far  sons,  who  love 
Our  ocean-empire  with  her  boundless  homes 
Korever-broaaening  England,  and  her  throne 
III  our  va!^    Orient,  and  one  isle,  une  isle. 
That  know;)  not  her  own  greatness:  if  she 

knows 
And  dreads  it  we  are  fall'n. But  thou, 

my  Queen, 
Not  for  Itself,  but  thro'  thy  living  love 
For  one  to  whom  I  made  it  o'er  nis  grave 
Sacred,  accept  this  old  imperfect  tale, 
New-old,  and  shadowing  Sense  at  war  with 

Soul 
Rather  than  that  gray  king,  whose  name,  a 

ghost, 
Streams    like    a    cloud,   man-shaped,   from 

mountain  peak. 
And  cleaves  to  cairn  and  cromlech  still :  or 

him 
Of  Geoffrey's  book,  or  him  of  Malleor's,  one 
Touch'd  by  the  adulterous  finger  of  a  time 


That  hover'd  between  war  and  wantonness. 
And   crownings   and   dethronements :    take 

withal 
Thy    poet's    blessing,    and    his    trust    that 

Heaven 
Will  blow  the  tempest  in  the  distance  back 
From  thine  and  ours :  for  some  are  scared, 

who  mark. 
Or  wisely  or  unwisely,  signs  of  storm,' 
Waverings  of  every  vane  with  every  wind. 
And  wordy  trucklings  to  the  transient  hour, 
And  fierce  or  careless  looseners  of  the  faith. 
And  Softness  breeding  scorn  of  simple  life. 
Or  Cowardice,  the  child  of  lust  for  gold. 
Or  Labor,  with  a  groan  and  not  a  voice. 
Or  Art,    with  poisonous  honey  stol'n  from 

France, 
And  that  which  knows,  but  careful  for  itself. 
And    that   which   knows  not,    ruling  that 

which  knows 
To  its  own  harm :   the  goal  of  this  great 

world 
Lies  beyond  sight :  yet  —  if  our  slowly-grown 
And  crown'd  Republic's  crowning  common- 
sense, 
That  saved  her  many  times,  not  fail  —  their 

fears 
Are  morning  shadows  huger  thnn  the  shapes 
That  cast  them,  not  those  gloomier  which 

forego 
The  darkness  of  that  battle  in  the  West, 
Where  all  of  high  and  holy  diet  away> 


»31 


THE   END. 


Cambridge :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bige' jw,  &  C* 


war  and  wantonneu, 
dethronement! :   take 

and   hit   truii   that 

in  the  distance  back 
for  tome  are  scared, 

signs  of  storm," 
ne  with  every  wind, 
to  the  transient  hour, 
looseners  of  the  faith, 
scorn  of  simple  life, 
d  of  lust  for  gold, 
n  and  not  a  voice, 
IU8  honey  stol'n  from 

I,  but  careful  for  itself, 
3W8  not,    ruling  that 

le  goal  of  this  great 

—  if  our  slowly-grown 
c'a  crowning  common- 
times,  not  fail  —  their 

huger  than  the  shapes 
those  gloomier  which 

attle  in  the  West, 
holy  dies  away. 


SeCok 


